Guilty Gear: The Missing Link
by Piccolo Sky
Summary: Novelization of Guilty Gear: The Missing Link. Complete.
1. One Bad Trip

Hello everyone! Or maybe I'm talking to you for the first time, since this is my first story I've ever put in this section. If you're fans of "The Servant" over in FF X-Overs, you're probably coming over to see what my hiatus is putting out. Here's the answer. A novelization of the first Guilty Gear game.

Some of you might be groaning at the thought. A lot of novelizations make me do the same thing, although I've done my share of them. To tell the truth, I wanted to do a fanfiction set later in the series, but I've got this thing about doing fanfictions covering events that have only happened in my own private mental fanfic universe, so rather than confuse people I start at the beginning. I have wanted to do a fanfiction of this for some time. I thought that if it was done right the characters would be interesting enough to make a good story. I hope you still like it and give it a whirl. At least, give the first ten chapters a whirl. I hope to keep it interesting.

For starters, I wanted to lead into the story by doing ten chapters, one for each of the fighters available at the beginning of the game. In doing so, each story will gradually uncover more of the background story and the plot. So if you know nothing about Guilty Gear, hang on until the full first ten chapters are over. On the other hand, if you _do_ know something about Guilty Gear, you may notice a few things that seem blatantly wrong. That's because I'm telling the story as if the reader has never heard it before, and hence doesn't know the whole story right off the bat. I enjoyed writing these first ten chapters, because forcing myself to devote ten pages to each character really helped me get inside their skin and crawl around a bit. This helped me to get to like them and not just write them as some brainless, drooling fighter to be dealt with.

Enjoy!

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**GUILTY GEAR**

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The neighborhood could hardly be called that anymore. It hadn't been a neighborhood for nearly a hundred years. It was only because some computer log somehow managed to survive endless bouts of destruction within the IPF's database that it was still considered one. In truth, it was no man's land. Yet then again…70 percent of Earth was no man's land at this point. The fact that it had a record still recognizing it as a city block made up of Madison, Maple, Ash, and Buchanan gave it some points for recognition.

However, what defined a neighborhood no longer applied here. Neighborhoods had lawns and grass. The bare rocky ground had been blasted by bombs and magical power a thousand times over until it was completely irradiated. Even now, special radioactive counters would tell you that none of the lawns were safe to sunbathe on. Of course…you couldn't really hope to sunbathe anyway. Overhead, the sky was black and overcast with clouds. It was the residue of a special magical bomb that the enemy had tried to use in the last war. The after effects of these weapons were still hanging over a good 40 percent of all farmland on the planet. Magically charged warheads had been made to blast out a spell of darkness and gloom in the sky on detonation. The result was eternal darkness…or at least a few thousand years of it. None of the clouds had broken since they had first been fired nearly forty years ago. United Nations scientists had been working on the one over the Great Plains area of North America for ten years, and still couldn't get so much as a ray of light to touch the ground for more than two seconds. So hence, this neighborhood was low on the list of priorities of restoring.

Neighborhoods also had children playing and people having barbecues. The last barbecue had been last night, when a gang of scarred, sick, mutated-looking individuals brought down one of the giant rats that plagued the ancient sewer system (at the cost of two of their lives) and roasted it. About the only safe way to eat one of those things was to turn it to charcoal, but they didn't care. So it was small wonder how one of them now lay dead on the ground from contracting a disease the rat had, waiting until it was a bit darker out so that he could, in turn, feed the kin of the rat he had helped kill the night before. As for children, well…the corner of Maple and Madison was where the last child had been playing a game over one hundred years ago. His parents had been watching him somberly from the window, thinking of calling him in to the basement as the other neighbors were doing, screaming in terror and struggling to cling to life. But they knew that he, like the rest of them, would die instantaneously and without pain once the first neutron bomb hit. So they let him go. Both he and his family looked into the bright blaze of a nuclear explosion before they went on to the next world.

Neighborhoods, of course, also had houses. There were no "houses" here in the traditional sense of the word. The nearest home was nearly a thousand miles away, within an outpost watching a wasteland border, where a single sentry for the IPF kept a constant vigil for a population explosion of mutants. If they did come forth, they would hopefully be dogs or cats or deer or something of the like. Because if they didn't come like that, they might come in the form of a plague of rats or locusts. These monsters were always venomous, disease ridden, devoured everything in their path, and, worst of all, bred quickly. They'd have to call over half of the IPF in order to stop one of these things, but it had to be done and it had to be done quickly when it happened. Ignoring one threat of a plague, some four decades ago, had led to the area known as the Ukraine being swallowed alive. They had to firebomb the entire area and then subject it to enough radiation to make the old Chernobyl accident over two hundred years earlier look like a skin rash. It was either that, or let them rise up and devour the rest of the world.

There were some broken foundations instead of homes. Of course…these foundations had been broken and rebroken so many times that they were simply rocky pits at this point. The rest of the houses had long since been burned, scattered to the four winds, recycled into existing plant and animal life, consumed, excreted, and then recycled again. What was left was a gray, lifeless landscape…extending for hundreds of miles in every direction. Nothing stood out except rolling, lifeless hills…and a few occasional monitoring devices or terraforming units.

Yet despite all this, the neighborhood was not lifeless.

People did come out here, rare as it was. After all, what was left of mankind had made great strides in transportation and technology…among other things. The greatest of this, of course, had been discovering magic. It seemed silly to an outsider…seeing mankind so far in the future, victim at last to its own self-destructive nature…and yet talking of magic. Yet this was what had kept the last bit of humanity alive. After exhausting all other fuel and power sources, some researcher over a century ago had been fortunate enough to discover how to tap into the natural energy within all living things. His discovery led to genetic engineers tampering with the human code…selecting what precious few individuals had the ability to wield this power, manipulating the genes to isolate it, and then going about transgenetically modifying every human left. Now, it was as common as dirt…or death. It was through this power that what was left of humanity managed to survive the destruction of the environment, the resource wars that followed, and the even more terrible wars after those. Blending it with technology had created a new epoch of machinery…one that might actually one day undo and rebuild the wreckage of Earth.

Yet that was a long way off…and mankind still had the annoying habit of loving destruction over creation. Yet it had survived all other attempts at self-destruction. Why not this as well?

At any rate, environmental restoration was one of many projects that had taken off. It was still very much incomplete in terms of effectiveness, but it did the job enough to allow humanity to exist for another few borrowed decades of life. The wasteland would one day have to be reclaimed if humanity was to continue, and some were desperate enough to invest money in trying to restore it. Workers now came out here frequently…although always in armored vehicles and with heavy guards. Every few hundred square miles they put up magical vaporators to try and bring some moisture to the soil. In other places, magically-treated seeds were planted in an attempt to restart the nutrient cycling in the environment (it would be a hundred years before anyone could consider growing something that could be eaten, however). Automated radiation scrubbers hovered over the landscape morning, noon, and night…picking up every radioactive particle they could detect and, in turn, used them to keep itself moving and cleaning until all was gone.

Because of that, this place was not void of human life. And because it wasn't void of human life…the marginalized portion of society, of which there were still many, dwelt out here.

Such it was for the drunken derelict living at the corner of Maple and Buchanan. He was one of several homeless bums living in this part of the world. It wasn't the best accommodations…but when deciding whether or not to live free or live under the thumb of an international police force that you hoped wasn't corrupt in your sector, or a government that put all poor citizens into forced labor, or you like drinking liquor without having to be in a designated space at a designated limit, or you had some illicit business to take care of, or any other of a million problems…it wasn't bad. Of course, you had to be a hardy lot. You had to have eaten a lot of bad stuff in your time so that your antibodies were good and high. You had to be good at swiping water purifying pills from the workers who came by so that you could drink safely. You had to be good at hiding from the mutants or the drifting sub-human gangs who came through from time to time.

This derelict was good at all of the above. He might never had had much of a job or been too clean, but he had grown up in the wasteland and he knew it even when he was drunk. He had covered one of the basement ruins with metal sheeting and wood debris, making a fairly good roof and a "pit house" of sorts. He had even nailed the sides down, keeping anything from digging its way in. So long as he stayed quiet at night, nothing tried to get in, assuming it was simply an abandoned, filth-ridden hovel. Yet if something did try to get in, he had a shotgun and four good magical-charged shells left. Normally, he subsisted on the strange mushrooms that grew on the bodies of every dead thing in the wasteland, and occasionally whatever fresh meat he could find. Yet his last raid of one of the vaporator crews had yielded a crate full of canned goods in addition to water-treatment pills. He had no qualms about stealing from them. It was their fault for coming out here without locking them up.

There was an armored train that ran by once a week about twenty miles from where he was. He got on it occasionally, riding to some far cleaner city where people actually lived like they used to before the war. He didn't go to the cleanest cities, of course. Oh no…the rich lived there, and they had little tolerance for their isolated fish-bowl utopias being dirtied up by vagrants. You had to go for the middle zone, where upper middle-class people worked. There you could hit some up for money, which he did about once a month. A week ago, he had bore a lot of fruit. He had enough to buy eight bottles of whiskey. He preferred having a good drink and bad food to no drink and good food, after all.

Right now, he was leaning back at the collapsible entrance to his pit house. It had to collapse…otherwise anything that came by would get suspicious of someone living there. However, he had rigged together some metal rods to give him a sort of entryway. Wearing his oversized, tattered clothing, of which he always wore several layers at once, he leaned down underneath it, taking advantage of the wind break. After all…the wind in the wasteland was harsh and often at one temperature extreme or the other. He kept his legs covered with the more colorful shirt he had picked up from a clothing center for the homeless last time he had been in town. He liked the color. It had an old British emblem on it from their old flag. Of course…the derelict didn't know that. Few people who hadn't been alive a hundred years ago knew that.

The sky was dark and grim, yet there was still some light in it. Once it turned completely black, it would be time to go in. That was when the things would start coming out. The derelict wasn't scared. He knew what time was good to go in. And even if it wasn't alright, he wouldn't even have to bother getting out his gun. He had a pair of hand sickles lying near one of his hands. He had found them in the basement of the ruin he lived in now. Somehow they had survived without much rust or wear and tear for decades, so he figured they were good weapons. Then again, he wasn't in much shape to fight off an attacker now. The seventh bottle of whiskey was in his other hand, and as he lay back he lolled his head about listlessly. The bottle was half-empty already, and he didn't look ready to stop anytime soon.

The derelict let out a belch, not caring to be as crude as he wanted, and then hoisted the bottle to his lips again. He proceeded to take a big swig, letting the liquor slam down his throat and give him another jolt.

He realized a moment later that he might have hit some threshold. As soon as he slammed down the drink, some large reaction abruptly stunned him. A huge popping went out in his ears, and he thought for a moment that he had blown his eardrums. However…he had never heard anything like this before. It was sort of like thunder, only much louder…much more powerful. It sounded as if the hands of God had grasped reality, ripped it in two, and then let time and space slam back together. The derelict almost thought he felt it…for it seemed as if the ground, the air, and his flesh rippled violently, like he was the surface of the pond of time and someone had just thrown a stone.

Pulling the bottle away from his lips, the derelict blinked and looked at it in confused drunkenness, wondering what had been in that last gulp. He tilted the bottle around a bit and looked at it from different sides, as if this would somehow make it clear. As he twisted it around, however, he eventually looked through the bottom of it.

It was there that he saw something not far in front of him. It was only a smudge through the warped glass and his warped vision, and so he pulled the bottle down, blinked in confusion, and looked ahead of him to see what it could be. He was soon a bit puzzled at the sight, for it was something unusual even in this part of the world.

Sprawled out with his face to the ground, arms and legs seeming to weakly hold him up, was what looked like a young man. He was average build…perhaps even a bit thin…but he was also muscular. His body had been toned and sculpted through hard work and training. Yet what was far more unusual than a strong person having popped in out of nowhere was the fact that this person was buck naked. He didn't have a stitch of clothing on his body…although he had several scars, indicating he had been a man who had been roughed up in the past. Long blonde hair sprawled over his head and face, obscuring his facial features. He didn't move at first…just held himself there, looking neither live nor dead.

The derelict blinked. Based on how glazed his eyes were, it was likely that he thought he was dreaming. However, the person was quite real. After a few moments more, the muscles on his body stiffened. Its fingers clenched, and the form went rigid. Beneath the blond hair, teeth clenched, and the man began to grunt and strain. Slowly, his body began to twist and shift. His back arched, and his legs straightened. He grunted out louder as he did this, eventually making a mild cry. His head slowly turned up and looked out. He actually had a pleasant, youthful face, if not a bit rugged and ruddy…as well as having been roughed up not-too-recently. He seemed as if he was stretching out after having not moved in years.

He stretched like this for a good five minutes before he finally relaxed. First, he slumped back into a crumpled form, holding himself up off the ground with his limbs and keeping his head low. Yet a moment after that, he leaned his head up again. His face was again exposed, and his eyes cracked open.

Though looking tired and perhaps inebriated himself, the young man looked around a bit. His gaze showed some puzzlement, indicating that he was confused by what he saw and not seeming aware of where he was.

In the end, his face turned into a frown as he grunted. He spoke in an accent the derelict had never heard before.

"Aw, hell… Where am I now?"

The derelict blinked once, and then, as if not liking his latest hallucination, he took another shot of his whiskey in an attempt to replace it. It didn't work. The young man was still there when he finished. Frowning a bit, the derelict licked his lips, and leaned back a bit more.

"Hey fella…" He addressed the man.

The blond turned and looked to him on hearing this. He seemed to recognize him for the first time.

"Why ain't ya' got no clothes?"

The man stared back a moment longer, but didn't seem to care much about the drunk's question. Rather, he focused a bit harder on the man, and in particular his bottle. Slowly, he began to turn and rise to his feet, not caring about his nakedness.

"Say man…that whiskey?" He asked.

"Sure as hell is." The derelict answered. "Eighty world dollars a bottle."

The young man furrowed his brow. "World dollars? What the hell happened to euros?"

The derelict, confused at this vision making up strange words, furrowed his own brow. "What the hell is a 'you're owe'?"

The blond rolled his eyes on hearing this. "Great. At least I don't have to worry about having no bloody money on me this time."

Without another word, the young man stepped forward toward the derelict. Once he reached his side, he snatched the bottle out of his hand and took a swig. The derelict was a bit surprised by this, but having already concluded that the blond man who appeared out of nowhere was a hallucination, he figured that there was no way he could drink any of his liquor.

The blond handed the bottle back to the man a moment later…just before making a face, turning his head, and spitting out the liquor.

"What's that crap?" He said in an exasperated manner. "I've had dog piss better than that!"

The derelict snickered as he took another drink. "You find anything better, buddy…you let me know. Why don't you just call some to rain out of the sky like you did?"

The blond ignored this and wiped his mouth. "Forget the booze. What year is it?"

The derelict blinked. "Huh?"

The blond turned to him with an impatient frown. "The year, mate. What year is it?"

The homeless man grinned and let out a chuckle in reply. "You're more messed up than me, ain't ya', boy? Last I checked it was still 2181."

This seemed to make the blond react in shock. He gaped at the derelict for a moment, and then sighed and rolled his eyes before smacking his head. "Bloody hell…this is the worst one yet. I thought I was done with this crap. I stayed in the same place for five years last time. Now I'm over a bloody century in the future. Now I've got to get a damn job all over again…find some new place to live…and I ain't got any idea what's going on."

The derelict had picked up on some of this, and looked confused again. "Say, fella…" He spoke aloud after a moment, getting the young man's attention again. "What the hell you talkin' about? You ain't some Gear or something, are ya'?"

This only made the blond confused again. "Gear? That some sort of insult now? What the hell's a Gear?"

The derelict, drunk as he was, realized that the blond honestly didn't know what he was talking about. And that, in turn, only made the derelict more overwhelmed. He shook his head at the blond as he drank again. "Man…you _are_ more messed up than me…if you don't even remember the Crusades."

Now it was the blond's turn to look more confused. "Crusades? What the…?" However, he cut himself off in mid-sentence. He seemed to realize that the homeless man was too drunk to be able to answer any more questions or to understand who he was or where he had come from. He decided a different tactic. He looked more relaxed and spoke to the drunk again.

"Say buddy…you know where the nearest town is?"

The homeless man gave a nod. "That'd be Fort Tantric…" Here, he pointed past the blond and out into the distance. "'Bout 1,020 miles that way."

The young man's eyes widened in flabbergasted shock.

The derelict frowned. "Aw, don't look like that. Let me guess…ya' don't even know 'bout the armored train twenty miles west of here. Ya' can be there in less than three hours if ya' ride that. It shows up in six hours, so if ya' hurry ya' can make it."

On hearing this, the naked man's shock and growing depression vanished. He brightened considerably. Immediately, he straightened up and looked ready to go. However, once he looked to the sky to get his bearings…he realized there was nothing to see. The sky was clouded over and black. Helplessly, he looked back down to the drunk.

The man frowned and pointed to the left. "Thataway."

The blond grinned. "Thanks a bunch, mate." He turned and began to move to leave. However, he had only gone a few steps when he seemed to take a better look at his situation. He realized that he was in the middle of a barren, godforsaken wasteland…and he didn't even have two rocks to rub together. And so, he found himself turning back to the homeless man.

He looked down to his legs, and noticed his shirt. On seeing it, he actually looked surprised and then happier.

"Hey…that's a shirt with the old Union Jack on it! So ol' England's still kickin' around?"

The derelict looked confused again. "Who the hell is England?"

On hearing this, the blond looked far more dismayed. "Take that as a no." He answered glumly. After doing so, he pointed to it and looked more innocent. "You mind, chum?"

The derelict snickered and waved at him as he took another drink. "Be my guest. You need it more than me, you trippin' dope."

The blond didn't dignify this with an answer, but simply took up the shirt. He quickly slipped it on, not caring for how dirty it was. It was long enough to conceal both his torso and his private parts. It was hardly an outfit, but he seemed to already be more energized and enthusiastic to be wearing it. He moved to leave again…but then spotted the sickles on the ground. He hesitated and stared at them a moment. He seemed to be thinking about something. He turned and looked around a bit more, and soon he spotted something else in the distance…a length of chain that was lying on the ground from the hunting expedition last night. He turned back to the drunk.

"Say mate…would you mind letting me have those sickles? If you ain't using them?"

The derelict grinned and chuckled again. "Sure, man from the sky…anything for my guest…" He half-cackled aloud. Normally he wouldn't have been so generous, but by now he was convinced all over again that the blond was some hallucination. He firmly believed that he could give him anything and that it would still be there after he was gone.

At any rate, the blond was very grateful. Smiling again, he took up both sickles, and then turned and walked over to the discarded chain. He snatched this up as well, wrapped it around his torso, and then gave a thumbs-up to the derelict behind him.

"Love to do somethin' for you in return, mate…but I'll have to get my own legs beneath me first."

* * *

For the first time in five years, Axl Low was having a very bad day.

Of course, he figured, it had been a rather bad life ever since about ten years earlier. Currently, he was on some train large enough to fit on two sets of tracks (at least, from what he was used to), getting shelter in some car with what he could only assume were mutant cattle, although they smelled twice as bad, and fiddling with attaching the chain he had picked up to the two sickles he had. To think…this was actually him on a _lucky_ day. He had found a shirt and a weapon in no time. Not just any weapon. He'd have a kusarigama rigged out of this in no time…granted, it would have another sickle instead of a weight.

Ten years ago had been much worse. One minute, he had been sitting at some bar in Liverpool in the good old year 2020. The next…and he suddenly found himself feeling stiff, tired, and bare buck naked at the exact same bar, only in the year 2027. The bartender ignored the fact that he had apparently appeared out of thin air, but instead called the cops. While he was still trying to figure out why the drinks had changed along with the bar host, he was dragged out to the local jail for indecency.

That first "trip" had been the worst. It had only been seven years into the future, and so the cops assumed he was simply pulling their legs when he had no idea about the recent war outbreaks, the discovery of "magical" genes, and who was the current Prime Minister. If he knew then what he knew now, he would have kept his mouth shut, let them dismiss him as having been on a bad acid trip, and then dump him off on the street…hopefully with clothing. Yet at the time, he was genuinely scared and confused. He continued to push them about how it was possible that seven years had gone by. He wanted to know if he had been found unconscious, or had awaken from a coma, or if he had been the subject of strange experiments or alien abduction. No one could answer him…but they could examine his record and find that there were no files for Axl Low. The last one had been closed five years ago when he had been declared legally dead after being a missing person for so long. He had insisted on being alive too much after that…because the cops eventually shipped him out to the funny farm.

For five months, Axl had been in a padded room whenever he wasn't talking to psychologists, trying desperately to convince them that he was from the past. At any rate, none had believed him. He had no way of proving it, and he began to wish that he had gotten thrown into the past, so then he'd at least be able to tell people something that would make him believe him.

Then, one day, while he was reclining after one session…he got his wish.

The clean, well-padded asylum had suddenly become something far more dungeonesque, and he was left nude and sprawled on the floor of a cell along with a raving lunatic. Both his screams of fear and the lunatic's screams of terror at the fact that a nude man had suddenly appeared alerted the guards. They soon found out that a man was there who shouldn't have been before, and dragged him out. However, the fact that he was nude made them think he was crazy nonetheless. Somehow in the storm of questions that followed, Axl found out that he had gone back in time…this time to the year 1942.

Realizing he had once again leapt through time, Axl handled the situation with far more tact this time around. He made up some story about being beaten and thrown into the asylum after walking down a bad corner one night. It took a week of work, but he finally managed to convince them into thinking that he was perfectly sane. Some assumed that he had simply feigned this whole incident to get out of fighting the war against Nazi Germany, but he had bit off more than he could chew. And so, he was thrown back out onto the ruined street with a set of basic clothing.

Axl wasn't much of a historian, but he knew a bit about World War II. Realizing he was stuck here, he decided to flaunt it. He managed to make a few pretty pennies for the next two years, making bets on what major direction the war would take. As 1945 approached, he planned to make even more by betting that the Japanese would surrender after having two fantastic new weapons being dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

But then, he had a better idea. He knew the end was coming soon to Japan. Why not try to make some profit from those who would really benefit? Using what money he had gathered, and going to a few illegal sources to help barter passage, he managed to go across Asia and to Japan itself. It was there that he had first noticed the weapon known as the kusarigama. He was fascinated by it, and bought it to start practicing with. After that, he started making a business off of "tipping" major Japanese businesses as to what day the A-bombs would fall.

Yet disaster struck again soon after…as he once again found himself flung forward in time…this time to the year 1988…right in the middle of a Yakuza gang war.

There had been other "leaps" after that. Sometimes they lasted months. Other times they lasted a week. Suffice to say, he had survived that incident with the Yakuza by playing dead. As soon as he was up and at it again, he got a new kusarigama and practiced with it again. He did every time he managed to leap through time, until he was rather good with that kind of weapon. He had always been a bit of a scrapper as it was…and he did have some special talents a bit better than the ability to fight…and now that he was being thrown back and forth through time he was hardened even more. He lost track of how many different eras he had been to, though the better…or worse…ones stuck out in his mind.

Frankly, he couldn't stand it. He was just some average joe. Why was he suddenly that guy from Quantum Leap? At least he got Dean Stockwell tipping him off to what was going on in each era… He had to start his life from scratch every time. The worst part was the uncertainty. He never knew how much to plan for in whatever time period he went to. He never knew if he'd be flung forward or back in the next second. No one had any knowledge or scientific expertise in any era he went to yet to know what was happening to him either.

This was hardly a safe way to go through life either. One of his trips had been to the year 2065. They were making up some sort of new biological weapons then. They looked like people…but they were monsters. They had some sort of magical control over their powers, only far greater than any human he had ever seen. Axl had nearly gotten killed by one before a leap flung him out of there. Strange…he thought he almost recalled the people there calling these weapons "Gears"… But that was over a hundred years ago. They were still talking about them now?

He had thought he had come to a stop for the past five years. He had been flung to the year 2015. He knew his way around this era well enough, and so he had tried to settle in again. He also tried to stay out of his own way. He had no idea what would happen if he ever met up with his present self, but he had read enough sci-fi novels trying to figure out what was happening to him to realize it probably wouldn't be good. He landed a job working at a pub as bartender. Part time, he ran a sort of martial training center out of his apartment, where he dazzled the people with the techniques and moves he had picked up from his time traveling.

It was here where, one day, he had met Megumi.

She walked into the bar while he was tending. She had just broken up with her old boyfriend, and was looking to have a drink to help erase the memory. When she saw Axl serve her, she had tried to hit it off with him on the very first night. He knew better. He didn't want to get involved with anyone when he could jump town at any moment, and he knew better than to try and get with a girl who might have an angry ex-boyfriend looking for trouble or an excuse to beat in someone's face.

Despite that, he had ended up talking to her for quite a bit of the night. She liked his personality, and he found himself unwillingly liking hers as well. She was a lot like he used to be…carefree and casual, but not to the point where she felt she could just step on anyone. Over the next few months, she came in often, and he found out that he spent a lot of the night talking to her, even to the point of telling other customers to shove it while he was chatting. Before he knew it, he was already friends with this woman. And both of them found each other staring at one another for most of the night even when they weren't drinking or serving.

For two years, Axl wouldn't let it go any farther than that. He couldn't. He never knew when he'd leave or leap. The longest he had ever stayed put was two years. He waited for that time to come, and waited for himself to leap on every new day. Each day it came closer, he felt himself growing more nervous and afraid. He avoided Megumi on purpose, not wanting to get any more attached to her. Never before had he feared jumping as much as he did now. He didn't want to be separated from her…more than anything else…

Yet three years passed…and Axl was still there. When this happened, he began to wonder. What if the leaping had stopped? What if he had finally settled down, and now was back in one time period? As time went on, he began to go from supposing this to hoping it…and then believing it. He thought his traveling was finally over with. With that done, he went back to Megumi, and this time wanted to be more than friends.

It took some time to get back with her, however. She had misinterpreted his behavior as pushing her away. He was lucky she hadn't found anyone else. But after a few months, they were back on old terms, and soon both of them started to go out. Axl actually ceased training with his exotic weapon not long after, instead running along with Megumi at every opportunity. They went everywhere and did everything together. They eventually got an apartment together, and then things got really nice. Axl almost forgot that he had ever been an involuntary time traveler in the first place.

At last, a month ago, he began to think about popping the question. However, he still had little money. He was determined to get a nice ring at least before doing it. And so, he had put more hours in, and intensified his martial arts training. Megumi noticed, and she realized that he was trying to get more money for something. She coyly smiled in response and just watched every day, waiting for the inevitable to happen. Axl loved it. At last, after years of misery, it seemed as if everything would finally work out… That's what he had thought last night when he went to bed…

That was what he thought until he woke up on that wasteland, showing his package in front of some hobo.

Axl wasn't a man who let anything get him down…but inside he was infuriated. Once he had finally made it to the train, he had broken down and cried. It had been too much for him this time. He had lost too much, and gone to some hellish future where he had no love or position or knowledge or anything else. He kept thinking that he had left Megumi alone over a hundred and fifty years in the past, wondering why he had run out on her…wondering if he was dead…living the rest of her life alone… He had taken up one of the hand scythes twice, and had put it against his chest both times…

Yet he forced himself not to let it get him down. He forced himself to keep going. Somehow…this time he'd get back to 2020. This was over a hundred and fifty years in the future. There was all new technology here. Someone had to know how to get him back. And he would get back…if it was the last thing he ever did. Until then, he had to stiffen up and let himself keep going.

A sharp whine suddenly went out, and Axl felt himself shift as the train he was on abruptly slowed. He looked up at this, and he realized that they must have arrived at their destination. With that in mind, he quickly got up to his feet. Normally, the recoil would have been so great that he would have been thrown to the ground. However, he was a bit better toned for things like this than the average person. Of course, he had no idea what the average person was like now. For all he knew he was in some bizarre future where Gears had evolved from man…or even apes, for that matter.

Nevertheless, once the train came to a stop, he quickly hopped over to the sliding cargo door. It wasn't locked, and he was easily able to open it and get out as easily as he had gotten in. After all…who would want to steal an oversized mutant cow? It seemed that in that regard, at least, humanity hadn't changed. Their trains were still the same. Although, this far in the future, he'd think everyone would finally have a flying car and a robot maid or something…although the hobos looked the same as they did in every generation.

Once Axl had pushed the door open, he leapt out and onto concrete ground. He looked up and surveyed his situation.

So this was the Fort, eh? He supposed he knew how it had gotten his name. It was night outside, but here was a real city. It had lighting and everything. Up ahead, on the horizon, rising out of the ground like a skyscraper, was a rather formidable and powerful-looking fortress. Apparently it hadn't just been a clever name. There were a few other skyscrapers rising along next to it, but not too many. It was a big city, no doubt, but no metropolis.

Looking a bit lower, he got a better look at his own surroundings. Typically, he was at some sort of train station. There was heavy and strange looking equipment running around, all of it battered and rusty. They seemed to be moving to the latest arrival to begin unloading material. There were no drivers, which meant they had to be automated somehow. There were several sets of tracks extending out a bit in every direction. Each one was a set of double tracks laid together, no doubt for the new "jumbo-sized" trains that ran along them. There were warehouses here too, most of them looking dilapidated but also of a more advanced style and architecture than Axl had seen before. There were roads running by them, and strange hovering vehicles were pulled up to them, no doubt this generation's version of a semi-truck. The place wasn't lit up terribly brightly, and there were few humans here, and so it was easy for someone like him to slip away. Just ahead, a city full of possibilities awaited him.

However, he'd need a few things before he went there. And he had an idea of how to get them.

Staying a bit low, for he wasn't sure how tough police were in this era at arresting stowaways, he began to run along the tracks for the warehouses. He kept his eyes open for a certain group of people. It was a bit odd. There was trash and debris all around, just like any typical dirty city. However…there were no homeless people. Usually, derelicts would be practically running a place like this. There were none here. That seemed weird. Why would they want to live out there in the middle of some wasteland when they could stay here where there were plenty of people to panhandle from and lots of food to pilfer?

Axl didn't know, but he didn't really care after a few more moments. He saw what he wanted. As he ran over one last set of train tracks, he saw a trio of people up ahead. They were near an overhead light, and yet they weren't hanging around it. They were staying to the shadows nearby. They looked a bit ragged and rough, and seemed to be smoking and tossing around explicatives at one another. It was obvious that these guys shouldn't have been there, and had some sort of illicit business going on. They'd do nicely.

Quite calmly, Axl straightened up, almost letting his package show from underneath his shirt, and began to strut toward them.

It didn't take long before the shadows of the men turned and focused on him. Though he couldn't get a good look at their faces from a distance, he knew they were glaring at him. One by one, they threw their cigarettes aside as they stared on at the oncoming person. Axl did pass into the light as he came, giving them all a good look of him. One of them snickered at the sight, but the other two seemed to be eying the weapon he held. He took a good look as he came on. He saw at least one of them had a knife. The others could be wearing guns underneath their clothing.

After a few moments, he passed into shadow again and reached the three men. He came to a stop soon after, and stared at them. He took another moment to look them over. One was quite a burly guy, making Axl look like a string bean in comparison. He wore some sort of smoother fabric that Axl didn't really care for, and it was ripped in several places to show off his hulking muscles. It wouldn't fit him. He looked to the guy with the knife next. Skinny little jerk with crooked teeth grinning at him. Hair was in a punk style, and clothing was too loud, colorful, and covered with accessories and pins for his taste. Last guy was on the other side. Real flamboyant guy. However…

_Jeans…soft loafers…nice denim sleeveless jacket over a wife beater…though I'm not big on the oversized zipper…red band around the neck…fingerless leather gloves…my favorite color. And he must have some cash on him too from how new the stuff looks._

_You'll do just fine._

"You lost, buddy?" This one asked, in a tone of voice that made it clear that he was not in any way, shape, or form Axl's buddy. This was a typical question that a thug asked. If he was simply lost, then it was time for him to get lost. If he desired something, on the other hand…then perhaps they could do business. However, based on his appearance, he doubted they thought that was the case.

"Actually, I just got into town." Axl answered casually. "I could use a change of clothes and some cash. You three mind sparing some?"

The skinny one snickered at the suggestion. The others seemed to think it was a bit amusing themselves.

"Either you're a junkie, or some cop with the lamest excuse yet." The big thug said, his muscle seeming to tighten as he said this. "Hit the road. I don't sell to idiots too stupid to remember to wear pants."

_It was worth a shot._ Axl thought. _Now for the harder way…_

"I like how straightforward you are, Tiny." He answered the big one. "But I wasn't giving you a choice. I like your friend's outfit too much. So how about handing it over before I'm forced to rip your little uniform a bit more?"

Almost immediately, the skinny jerk stepped forward, flicked out his knife, and pointed it at Axl's throat. He gave him some explitive along with a threat, bearing more obscenity along with it. Axl, however, stayed perfectly calm as he turned to the guy and raised a mock-impressed eyebrow.

"Well lookie here, Tiny… Looks like they teach dogs to say more than bark in obedience school now. Although I'd still smack him with a paper for saying _that_."

"You looking for an ass-kicking, dumbass?" The third snorted as he stepped forward. It was obvious the three were getting more annoyed.

Axl merely turned to him and looked more impressed. "Ah…now your girlfriend is coming to bail you out. Lucky you."

Tiny was getting rather mad at this point. He reached out both of his massive forearms, placed them on his fellow goons, and pushed them back behind him. Both of them were rather ticked off now as well, but they were subservient to the bigger one.

"You just made the biggest mistake of your life, wise-ass." The thug grunted. "Cops ain't stupid enough to talk to me the way you do. I'm a class D magic."

The skinny one snickered. "That's right, dipsh't. A class D. Bet you're pissin' yourself now."

Axl simply crossed his arms, unimpressed. "Class D magic? You've been playing too much of that D&D crap, ladies."

Axl had a feeling that everyone other than himself in this era knew whatever these "classes" meant, so his insult may have made him look to be the dumber of the three. Nevertheless, if these guys were talking about magic, they probably meant that special gene that had been discovered over a hundred years earlier. If so…then these boys were in for a _big_ surprise.

Tiny looked insulted none the less. Abruptly, he stamped his foot down. A stray steel girder, about three inches thick, had been deposited there. Now, he knocked it up and into his fist. It was solid and strong, not rusted or warped or old. This was a good piece of steel. The big guy proceeded to put both hands on it and hold it in front of him. His two cohorts saw this, and broke into smiles. They stood back, knowing what he was about to do. Axl watched on, still very calm.

The thug closed his eyes and opened his mouth. Soon, he began to emit some chant…just like some of those goony kung-fu guys from the 1980 movies. Axl repressed the urge to chuckle. He kept watching, however. After a moment, something happened. The air around Tiny began to tremble…as if he was radiating heat or something. He kept focusing and chanting, and as he did the ripples picked up. A moment later, and Axl almost thought he began to see a light spring up around him. It was dim and lasted only a moment, but he saw it.

Then, abruptly, the thug grunted and flexed, seeming to focus all of that power at once. With one sharp movement, he turned the girder from a 180 degree angle to a 120. He sweat a bit as a result, and panted once or twice…but there was no mistaking that even the strongest weightlifters in the world in Axl's age would have been able to perform that feat if they put everything they had into it. Once that was done, the thug shifted the girder to one hand, wielding it like some sort of weapon, and stared at Axl. He stretched up to his full height, and let his size and power loom over him.

"Laughing now, punk? Ready to have me wrap the rest of this thing around your neck?"

If Axl had been any other person from his age…or at least almost any other person…he might have been sweating now, turning, and running for his life.

However, the fact of the matter was that Axl had always gotten along well no matter what time he was in because he had known about the magical gene long before it had been discovered. That was because he had been one of the few exceptional ones on Earth who _possessed_ it naturally. That was how he got around without anyone ever doing any real damage to him or hurting him. He had willingly gone with law officers and thugs in the past…but not today.

Axl calmly stared up and back into the eyes of the thug, and reached up to start rubbing his chin.

"I don't know anything about this 'class' system you guys have…but any of you familiar with the good ol' term 'pyrokinetic'?"

Tiny looked stupidly back at him, not realizing that as Axl stared at him his brain was focusing on the metal rod in his hand. Slowly…he reached out with invisible mental signals and seized the molecules within the girder. With a bit of exerted force, he started to make them move…bounce around faster…gain more energy…

The metal girder, unseen by anyone, suddenly began to turn a bit red. The sound of sizzling went out, and a small plume of smoke came from Tiny's hand. The big man's anger suddenly vanished as he realized what was happening. He looked to his limb, and saw that he was being burned. What more…he began to feel it. Letting out a huge yell, the man dropped the girder and seized his scorched hand in agony. His two companions stared in shock at what had been done. But as for Axl, he merely cracked a bit more of a smile as he waved a finger at the torn vest the big guy wore.

Moments later, and flames ignited on the collar, all around his head. Tiny, already shocked and in pain from the previous burn, now gazed about in terror as it appeared fire had leapt up all around him. Terrified, the man turned and began to bolt away from Axl as fast as he could. The blond smiled as he watched him run. It wasn't anything serious. Tiny would get a bit scorched before he put the flames out, and he'd be sore for a month or so…but after that he'd seriously rethink his career.

As for skinny and flashy, they turned and looked back to Axl. He smiled casually back. They stared for a moment in flabbergasted awe…and then turned and began to run for it too.

"Leaving so soon?" Axl asked as they turned and bolted. With that, he dropped one of his sickles to the ground, getting some slack on his chain. A moment later, he snapped it up, whirled it around his head, and then lashed out with it. His aim was true, and the chain wrapped around skinny's leg. One yank later, and the thug fell to the ground face flat.

"Uh-uh."

With another snap of his wrist, Axl loosened the chain and pulled it back. Flashy was too far away to get now with that move, but there was something else. He looked up to the warehouse nearby, and in particular the pole that was holding the light out over the ground. With another fling, his weapon went up and lashed around the metal. Giving a casual whistle, he yanked up and swung on it "Robin Hood" style, carrying himself over the ground in a moment and sending his body lunging for flashy. As he shot through the air and headed for him, he extended a foot and slammed it in the back of his head. Soon he was on the ground too.

Axl hopped off and loosened his kusarigama as he did so, bringing it back to him. He touched down on the side of the fallen man. Axl had no qualms whatsoever about what he had just done. As a matter of fact, he had counted on it. No one would care if he roughed up some criminals, and he knew that if he hadn't beaten them up they would have attacked him after he had egged them on so much. So it was technically self defense, right?

"Now, my nicely-dressed friend…" Axl spoke as he bent down and seized the man by the neck, immediately yanking him up to his feet. "About those clothes…"

* * *

_Not too shabby._

Things were looking up in this new era. Never before had Axl done so well in such a short period of time. Now, in addition to his lovely Union Jack shirt, he had a nice sleeveless denim vest over it, some loose-fitting jeans, a comfy pair of loafers, and brown fingerless gloves. To top it all off, he finished tying the red neck band around his head instead, making himself a nice long bandanna that covered his top scalp. His homemade kusarigama was already wound around his chest with the sickles hanging to the side, and his pockets were filled with 483 world dollars…the exact amount of cash that skinny and flashy had on them.

The two disgruntled thugs were sitting in a heap in front of him now. One was practically nude, but luckily Axl wasn't interested in stealing underwear…especially not some strange guy's. Both were unconscious. Flashy had gone first, and skinny followed after he had directed Axl to the nearest public library. He had some studying to do, after all.

Now, as he turned and began to calmly walk toward his newest destination, Axl took the recent events as signs of good luck.

_To be continued..._

Next Chapter: Faith of Our Fathers...


	2. Faith of Our Fathers

**Faith of Our Fathers**

* * *

Though he had done so for the past two years, the youth still found it troublesome to eat with chopsticks. His fingers fumbled more than once as he tried to pick out of his bowl of rice. He hated it every time he had a hard time. It reminded him of when he had tried to feed himself two years ago…when he had first been presented with a bowl of rice and been commanded to eat. He was barely able to feed himself, as badly as he was shaking. He thought he'd starve to death after three days of being unable to pick up so much a single grain of rice and shove it into his mouth. But his 'guardian angel' had kept up with him…forced him to practice the calming techniques despite how hungry he was…until he managed the impossible. Though he was so afflicted with DTs that he shouldn't have been able to hold still for three seconds, he fed himself. It felt like he had learned to eat again for the first time. 

The youth didn't look like much to most passers by in this part of St. Louis. The city was rather big now…one of the major cities that had been overlooked years ago during genocidal wars. New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, San Francisco, Boston…all of the old major metropolitan areas had been turned to ash and ruins. But St. Louis had fallen from its glory days back in the 1800's, and no one considered it much of a target. It was in the center of the country, making it the most safeguarded from bombardment. Because of that, it had survived the apocalypse, and had been settled and improved since. Even the old Gateway Arch still stood, and had three new skyways actually passing underneath it.

That said…St. Louis was still very much what it had been hundreds of years ago…a haven for criminals. Gangs and drug runners had fled to this place too, taking root when there was insufficient jobs for all of the refugees that had first flooded it. And though there was quite a bit of high society, crime and poverty were still the name of the game throughout much of it. Such was true for the grim alley he currently resided in, eating at a Japanese dive where an impoverished immigrant family struggled to pay their bills and pay protection money at the same time. Almost every small business in this bleak, polluted street paid protection…although they somehow still seemed to get robbed every week. Once upon a time, this had been a quaint little flea market that you could bring your kids to for a Sunday outing. Now it was filled with the dirtiest businesses, porn shops, bars, neon lights advertising gambling and girls, and every ugly, shady person you could think of. This wasn't a place anyone decent went…which was why no one liked the cops here. None of them were decent…they just came here to draw blood. And they'd do it if you looked at them wrong. It didn't exactly make them trustworthy or friendly, but it kept the gangs in line when they stopped by. After all…it wasn't illegal for a cop to kill _you_. And if you killed one of them, they could be just as menacing as a gang in seeking you out and ruining your family and your life.

The youth looked like a typical member of this underworld…"human vermin", as most preferred to call it. He supposed that's what they were. Vermin lived off of the carcasses of dead and dying things. After all, he didn't dress too fancy. He only wore light, loose white pants, a tight fitting brown tunic, and a loose jacket over that. Over the sleeves of his jacket, one could see he wore some sort of brown leather gauntlets. They looked hard, but were very mobile. They were a lot like his boots, which looked cumbersome but were actually very loose and hardly made a sound when stepped on. Other than that, he only had a belt around his waist that looked vaguely like an old karate black belt, and a pair of red studs in his ears. None of the clothes were new or especially nice looking, and someone dressed like this normally didn't hang around in this part of town unless they were up to something they weren't supposed to be. Most gang like of all was his hair. Long ago, he had bleached it permanently white. This was popular among gang crowds, and a tell tale sign forever of who he had been.

This dive of a restaurant had a bar-like seating in front of it, and here the youth sat alone as he picked at his food. He looked up and occasionally cast a glance to the hostess. It was a young girl. Perhaps she was entertaining some possibility of a new life. Perhaps she was daydreaming at all the passing crowds, looking at the occasional decent, honest person who passed by who had been successful. Maybe she was even entertaining some thought that some rich, handsome man would come by and mistake her for Japanese. Naturally, there were no Japanese running Japanese restaraunts anymore. She was Northern Chinese herself. Japan had been wiped off the face of the earth 80 years ago, and currently there were probably no more than a hundred worldwide. Those that were left were kept in government "zoos", treated like priceless animals within the country they resided, like Spotted Owls or Black-footed Ferrets. They weren't working at dives.

But if she looked pretty enough to be one, she might have a "prince charming" come and take her away from all of this. It was severely unlikely. She was nice, but this place was a bit short on luck. Oh well. A woman could dream.

It was important to keep dreaming, the youth knew.

He had stopped dreaming over a decade ago. That was when the eight-year-old orphan known as Chipp Zanuff had given up on ever waking up from the nightmare known as life. He had resigned himself to the fact that his life was totally worthless, that no one could ever believe he amounted to anything, and that he no longer cared who he had to hurt or step on to get what he needed to survive. That was the only thing that mattered now. He had to tear apart the rest of the predators in the world in order to earn his right to survive. There was no such thing as good or evil…just the strong and the weak. Those who were willing to do what they needed to in order to live, and those who believed in fantasies like religion or karma who would eventually fall victim to everyone else.

That was when he first started drug running. At the time, it was great. Until that time, he had lived as a homeless orphan. He had been a good kid…aside from the fact that he was poor and homeless. His mother had been a psychotic whore and a drunk, eventually drinking herself to death when he was four. He had been on the street ever since. He never bothered anyone. He asked 'please' whenever he begged for food or money. He even tried to carry groceries or wash windows for those who gave him anything. He shared his warm places to sleep with sicker orphans. He never picked on anyone smaller than him. And he dealt with being beaten, robbed, and generally treated like trash by every other bigger orphan in town.

Eventually…he grew tired of it. Whenever he offered a service, he was usually kicked, yelled at, and threatened with abusive police. Whenever he just wanted to sleep, the cops would come and drive him off with beatings…or worse. Whenever he tried to be nice to other kids, they ganged up and took advantage of him. And no matter how kind he tried to be…he was always stepped on in the end. He finally had enough of it. Until now, he had frowned on and hated the drug dealers who sent kids out to do their dirty work for them. But when he saw that they ate twice a day at fast food places…and that they had bigger gang members to defend them whenever bullies tried to steal their cash…he realized that this might be a better way of life.

And for years, it was that. He was defended from bullies and always had lots of cash on hand. He could afford to stay in halfway decent hotels and eat whatever he wanted. He was able to buy new clothes for himself and stick his nose at the police when he did work for a powerful enough gang. Sure, he had been shot at a few times, even stabbed once in a while by a few desperate junkies…but when he could pay cash for his medical bills, it was fine. He was good at what he did, and he continued to prosper. He had a good reputation in the criminal underworld, and he was known as dependable as time went on.

What people liked the best about him was the same thing that allowed him to make this a profit-earning business…he never took his own stuff. Oh, people had offered it to him plenty of times, but something of his old boy scout self kept him from doing it. That, and some common sense. He saw plenty of other drug runners taking their own stuff. Eventually they got sloppy as a result, winding up dead either from cops and junkies, or from their employers when they succumbed to their addictions and took their shipments themselves. Even those that didn't blew everything they made on keeping themselves high. Chipp wasn't that dumb. He stayed clean…and so he always had enough cash. He even put back quite a bit.

When he was sixteen, he decided to live the American dream and upgrade. He finished his last job for a client and went into the business himself. Things were even better then. It was a bit hard to start up, but soon he was trafficking big time business. He covered both borders north and south, and soon went across the ocean to places like Singapore and Cambodia. The stuff he brought back was the highest quality, if not the most messing up. He soon earned quite a reputation with not only small gangs, but the bigger ones like the Mafia.

Life was great then. He wondered why he hadn't started even younger. He was eighteen years old and nearly a millionaire. He had money, power, women… He started getting some celebrity clients. He had been invited to two dinners with Mafia bigwigs, and got even more connections for more business. Even when he started shipping some truly wild stuff…some of which was actually pretty bad even for a hard-core dealer…he didn't care. He was through with the phony morality crap. He was living the sweet life. Those he exploited should learn to do the same. He didn't care that he started employing eight year olds of his own, or that he had his own thugs to hold some default junkie still while he beat him…or even her…to death. He was getting high off of his new power, and he didn't want to ever go down.

Then there was hard times. The police got a morally righteous new chief, and for a year things were very bad. Cops cracked down on his operation, and he was forced to shut down a lot of his branches. He had to cut loose two separate warehouses in order to keep his whole business from collapsing. Money dried up fast, and soon he was back to living in half-decent hotels and eating fast-food hamburgers. Chipp got angry and bitter, not realizing that many other traffickers would love to be in his shoes. He might have been just eking out a living, but he didn't have any debts owed to shady people. He was free from that stress. He just had to wait this out until the cops laid low, and he could have bounced back.

But his conscience was coming back. He wasn't making any big bucks now. He was living just above the level of working poor. Memories of all of the people he had hurt…even killed…began to come back to him. Their ghosts haunted him, asking him if he had thought spilling their blood was worth the tiny salary he brought in. Despite thinking his soul was dead, he began to feel guilt and misery for what he had done. It was getting worse with each passing day. As money continued to fail to come in, he grew desperate to do anything…anything to make him feel it had been worth it…or at least make the ghosts go away…

That was the night he first took "Toxic Candy".

Suddenly, he was a little boy again, and at the top of the world. He wondered why he had reserves about this for so long. One little needle, and the world was his again. He felt bigger than anyone. That first time it was just a pick-me-up. He did a lot of business after that, and brought in enough money to actually eat at a real restaurant and sleep in a real hotel. He did so, feeling like his luck was changing.

But the next day, he started feeling depressed again. He did good business once more, and once again had enough to stay in better accommodations. Yet he began to think of something else. He had done so good just from one little taste. How about buying a few more? If he worked that hard and well after one dose, how about a couple to really put some money away? Before he knew it, he spent his extra cash on more Toxic Candy, settling for his average hotel for that night.

He did do good the next time…enough to buy some more Toxic Candy as well as stay in better locations. But things didn't stay good long. This latest dose didn't keep him as energized. So he bought more, once again slipping another rung on high society. It kept him going strong for a month…until again he started to slip. So he started to do more. He used to only take it once a day. Soon he was doing it twice a day. Around that time, some of his clients noticed that he was coming in looking overly giddy with red eyes. His more upstanding ones dropped him then, saying they weren't taking a chance on going with another trafficker who was a junkie himself. Chipp flipped them off and let it slide. He felt too good.

But more clients soon canceled…and the drugs continued to lose their effect. Within a year, he was up to four times a day. His new addiction plus the loss of business soon made him struggle to keep himself energized as well as stay even in medium range locals. Soon…he began to slip into dirtier ones. Crime bigwigs stopped inviting him over when he started to embarrass himself in front of them. Once he even soiled himself in front of a Mafia boss…and as a result half of his face was beaten in by a thug. He was dropped from that branch, and that was the first day of many he was called "----ing junkie".

Times got worse. Chipp began to realize what his drug use was costing him, but he couldn't stop. Every time he tried, he'd sleep for two days straight and yell at what employees he had left. He had to keep taking it, but when he did he became looser and crazier. He soon drove off his remaining employees, and barely had enough cash to fuel himself and his addiction. His business collapsed, and only by running drugs himself was he able to keep going. Even that soon fell out, and he had to buy his drugs secondhand from other dealers. He lost even more money then…and soon spent half of his nights on the street. He was getting dirtier and sloppier every day.

Then…the inevitable happened.

He didn't know how. He swore he had budgeted his money right this time. He knew where to get the drugs extra cheap…so that his employer wouldn't notice him shuttling away the difference to get himself an extra dose of Toxic Candy. Yet somehow…after that first hit…he was so high, and loving it so much, that he did more. Before he knew it, he woke up three days later on some strange bed…completely broke and without any of his employer's drugs.

Chipp was so terrified he threw up on himself, losing whatever food he had left in his stomach. He figured that he was small time…that the Mafia wouldn't bother with him. He was wrong. He didn't even need to go more than three blocks before three enforcers stopped him. After smacking him around until he was covered with blood staining his white hair, he found himself in a position he once ridiculed his fellow traffickers for. He was on his knees begging for time. After smashing the fingers of one of his hands, they gave him 24 hours.

Bleeding, dazed, and scared witless, Chipp went for the airport. He hadn't a penny on him, but he knew he had to get out of the country. But he was too out of it. He was off of his high, injured, and barely coherent. He ran into five cabbies, each of which refused to give him a ride. It wasn't just because he had no money…it was because these cabbies were owned by the Mafia. He might as well have put an ad in the paper advertising that he was trying to jump town.

Staggering, sore, friendless, hopeless, and feeling more vulnerable than he had since he was eight years old, Chipp dragged his body toward the airport. The ghosts of his victims laughed at him, until he was screaming at them to leave him alone. Tears mixed with blood all over his face as he realized he was finished. He had been wrong. There was such thing as retribution and karma. Now, all of his sins were coming back on his head. He collapsed several times…each time begging God for forgiveness and mercy for a few moments before getting up and dragging himself on.

He only made it within ten blocks of the airport before some twenty goons caught him. After putting a bag over his head, tying his arms behind him, and breaking two of his ribs, they dragged him into the nearest abandoned building. He had seen this before. He had done it to others before. They tied him to a chair and proceeded to start pistol whipping him, demanding their money. Chipp was too out of it. Blubbering, bleeding, barely able to think…he continued to cry out to God to give him one last chance.

At last the time came when they realized he would give them nothing. The only thing he was useful for now was an example. The gun was drawn. The barrel pointed between his eyes.

The shot never came.

Warm blood splashed into his face instead as the arm of his killer was severed at the elbow. The screams of agony he heard were like angelic harps as deliverance came for him. Some man…large…powerful…deadly…came forward and struck all twenty down in less than fifteen seconds. Some of them were already dead two seconds before they started yelling in pain. Chipp could see little through the blood and tears, but he saw a blade flash out again and again as the man darted in and out of shadows, until all of his oppressors lay dead on the floor.

Soon, there were none left alive but Chipp, still tied to the chair, and his guardian angel. The tall man kept his blade out, dripping the blood of its victims. He stood in front of the broken, little man seated in the chair in front of him, and for a long time stared at him and said nothing. He wouldn't say anything until Chipp got enough of his bearings to look up and into his eyes.

When he did…that man glared at him in such a way that even his fried brain could no longer look away.

Then he said something Chipp would never forget…that he still heard in his dreams.

"My name is Tsuyoshi, Chipp Zanuff…and I came here to kill _you_ tonight. You sit here awash in your own self pity and blood…but you have spilled the blood of dozens of innocents and ruined the lives of countless innocent children. I've watched you ever since you were eight years old. I watched as you slipped deeper and deeper into sin and violence, losing what innocence you once possessed and becoming fouler and dirtier than these assassins who came to kill you. Time and time again I waited for you to repent, but each time you only did worse. I trailed you tonight to make sure you wouldn't escape…to make sure that you'd feel the full divine judgment for your crimes.

"You are alive right now because of what I heard you crying out. Somewhere within your black, wasted soul there is some dim light still flickering of who you once were. On seeing that it was about to go out, it cried out for one last chance to live…not for itself but for the chance to make something of the life that you destroyed so completely. It was then that I realized that there might yet be a chance to save one life you crushed: your own.

"If you truly want out of the darkness you've allowed yourself to fall into, then you will come with me. The road will not be easy, and I doubt you have the strength to follow it. Each day I will force you to put yourself into a flaming crucible and be ground into powder. If you ever whine…if you ever complain…if you ever show the slightest indication that you prefer this life to your new one…I will kill you without a second's hesitation. Yet if you want to be something more than what you have become, I will help you regain the soul that you sacrificed. Perhaps one day you can look at yourself in the mirror and be proud of what you see.

"Or I can let you go. I can let you flee as far as you can, and engage in whatever sin or cowardice you desire. I only wish you never to return to this city. Either way, you will be hunted for the rest of your life. You have a choice. Years ago, you chose the easy path over the right one. Once again…you get to choose between what is right and what is easy. Do you care only for yourself, Chipp Zanuff? Or do you care for what you do in this world?"

Somehow…Chipp wasn't frightened by the man's words. Something within them let him know that he did have some small spark left in him…one that had been untainted by his horrible life. That part wanted a chance to live. And for the first time in over ten years…his dark, self-interested half was defeated by the voice of his conscience. He accepted Tsuyoshi's deal…not out of self-preservation but out of a genuine desire to be a better person. And since that day…his dark half had not triumphed again.

That wasn't to say it wasn't as hard as had been promised. Chipp was still ravaged by his addiction, and it took a combination of strong discipline training and fear of death to get through it. Tsuyoshi had immediately begun teaching Chipp to discipline himself. No more nice clothes. No more drugs. No more fast food. He slept on a small mat in a simple room with no furniture, one candle light per evening, and a bowl of rice three times a day. It was because the youth had a desire to save himself as well as urging from Tsuyoshi that he managed to survive the first month. He spent hours on end sweating and trembling, struggling to calm himself and keep his mind in order. He punched the floor, bit down on wood, and threw fits…but slowly and surely he worked his way through the withdrawal phase. That month felt like ten years at least…but each new day was one small victory notch in his belt. Every day seemed to get worse and worse…and he felt his brain screaming for just one little dose of Toxic Candy again and again. Yet he smacked himself around, smashed into his own injuries, and did everything possible to clean himself out. Finally…he won. The symptoms leveled off, and he was free of his addiction.

After this, he grew to know Tsuyoshi better. The big man was rather old, but he still was powerful and agile. He was half Japanese…which had effectively made him nothing of value. Full-blooded ones were the ones whisked away to glass menageries in government buildings to become national treasures. Half bloods were "mutts". He had been free to live his own life…but mostly to study the Japanese art of ninjitsu. It was an old and deadly technique, one that had aspects of it implemented in physical combat by troops all around the world. However, the true technique was in the ability to quickly, silently, and effectively kill your opponents.

In the past, this skill was used for assassinations and illicit activities. A ninja was primarily skilled at bringing death, after all. Tsuyoshi, in his youth, had been exiled and left on the street due to being only half Japanese. He had desired to use the technique he had learned to make an easy way of life for himself. He had nearly taken Chipp's own path. Yet he had a habit of watching the police. At the time, there were some good ones on the street. There was one he particularly admired, despite his circumstances. He was a younger officer, fresh and full of ideals. He acted justly, but didn't treat the people as animals or thugs, but actually gave everyone the benefit of the doubt. He was fair and kind to everyone. Some took advantage of him for this, but he didn't care, and neither did Tsuyoshi. For the sake of those few slipping through the cracks, the officer was making the world a much better place.

Then one day he saw him mixed in with a bunch of older officers. They were gathered around a gang member who had killed a cop. They were slowly and ritualistically beating him to death. Tsuyoshi happened to remember this gang member. He was one that the young officer had let go the other day for not finding anything on him when he was busted. There had been a break in at a convenient store, and this gangster was definitely part of the group that had done it. But he had cut the gang member a break, figuring he deserved a second chance rather than getting a record due to probable cause. Now he had killed. The young officer attacked him like a savage, saying things to him that the older officers frequently said about everyone on the street. He was a changed man, having lost his innocence so that he could get revenge.

Tsuyoshi remembered that he had not felt so angry at the gangster for spurning the young officer's kindness as he was for the young officer losing himself that day. He was never a good cop again. The gangster had always been bad…but the young officer was once a good man. He realized it was far more horrible for a good man to lose his soul than for a bad one to betray a good one's trust. After that day, he vowed only to use his skill for things that would make the city better, never for anything criminal.

Chipp realized that Tsuyoshi was talking about him in that story, and that made him realize what a greater mistake he had made. Because of this, he devoted himself more to his savior. For months, he continued to train in ways of self-discipline and focus, learning to sharpen his mind and purify his life. He made money doing the most menial of tasks: street sweeping. Yet under the tutelage of his master, he became the best street sweeper in the city. He brushed every sidewalk completely clean of dust. He threw out all the trash. He got on hands and knees and scrubbed every stain. For all of his hard work, he received only the standard wage. Yet he received something better inside…the feeling that he could devote himself entirely and completely to whatever task he set his mind to. And though thugs would come by and urinate on the sidewalk, saying he missed a spot, or they would rough him up and sometimes take what money he had on him, he never fought back but bore it all with control and self-discipline. To his surprise, whenever an old lady or kid would come by and say how nice the sidewalk looked after he was done…Chipp actually felt big like he used to when he had money as a trafficker. By humbling himself so much, even the smallest praise meant that much more.

Once Tsuyoshi was certain that Chipp was ready, he began to teach him elementary ninjitsu. The youth was actually glad for the chance. Tsuyoshi had to be one of the last people to actually know this technique, and to pass it along to some "junkie", thinking he was skilled enough for it, was a great honor. There was a time when he would have wanted to learn just to rough up those who had oppressed him. But now…he didn't even want to learn it for the sake of defending himself while street sweeping. He wanted to be like Tsuyoshi one day…coming to the rescue of another unfortunate bum and changing his life as well.

Chipp took to the training quickly. Part of this might have been that he was classified as a class D magic, having lots of internal talent that he had never bothered developing. In no time at all, he had mastered the basics and graduated to the intermediates. He was learning things almost as quickly as Tsuyoshi could teach them to him. He even went to the next level on a few things before Tsuyoshi showed him. His savior was justly pleased. He seemed to be proud of the old criminal he had saved, seeing how he was reforming into such a new person. Yet despite his technique, Chipp didn't lose his humble side. He was mild-mannered and calm at his job. He let everyone do anything they wanted to him.

Yet soon he was good enough to the point where if he saw someone else being oppressed or bullied…he jumped in. He was good enough to kill people quickly now with little trouble, and every day he only got better at this. But he never killed. He simply dispatched. If he saw a bully stealing from an orphan, he gave the bigger one a bloody nose and a stern warning. If he saw a protection enforcer, he disabled him to be unconscious before handing him over to the police (knowing the police would beat him if he was conscious enough to feel it). He used his ever-increasing speed to trip culprits running with loot from stores, and after returning the goods roughed up the thief a bit before letting him go. He only grew better with time, using his experience with low-level hoods to further sharpen his skill. He soon got a new high…this time from thinking himself to be some sort of vigilante superhero cleaning up St. Louis one hood at a time.

As time passed, Tsuyoshi and Chipp became friends. Chipp venerated the old man for his skill and power. Tsuyoshi admired his apt student. Although there was always the master and apprentice distinction between them, they broke down many walls together. They talked pleasantly often. They ate meals together. They trained often just for fun. They had a simple life, but it was one both of them enjoyed now that neither was alone anymore.

Chipp picked up the last bit of rice and stuffed it in his mouth. After doing so, he pushed the bowl forward toward the girl for her to take it away. She nodded and removed the bowl, and then went about getting the pick-up order for the youth. As he did, Chipp turned and looked over to the side of the street.

There were some more drug runners there…laughing and thinking that the world was theirs. Chipp knew so much better now. This was only temporary. One day they'd be cringing and afraid just as he was. Yet he couldn't help thinking of what was in their coat pockets…or of that fast food they were carrying…

The youth cursed himself and turned away. He couldn't let temptation take any hold. He was free of his physical dependence on Toxic Candy, but his mind would yearn for it for the rest of his life. If he slipped and allowed himself to indulge in it again, he might never save himself this time around. He didn't even allow himself the luxury of fast food. He had always eaten it whenever he was on a Toxic Candy high, and doing so reminded him of once having the wealth to buy and consume it at will. His own salary was just enough to get bowls of rice from this dive. His old side told him to indulge a bit again…to use his newly acquired skills to get himself some real money…

But he forced it down. He'd never listen to that again. If he had to fight for his soul every day, then he would.

A paper bag holding Tsuyoshi's rice was passed to Chipp, and he answered with a nod. He put out the few world dollars the meal cost, and then took up the bag in one arm. His other arm remained stiff and at his side, as if he was bracing it somehow. But he didn't note this. He simply took up his sack, turned, and began to walk back.

He tried to think of other things. He only lived two blocks away with Tsuyoshi. He had mastered the last of the intermediate techniques. Now it was time to do the advanced ones. He was eager for that. The ability to make your opponent hit dummies…to pretend to be hit and throw a shot back at just the right moment…to be able to take the wings off a fly with a shuriken at two hundred yards… Of course, this wasn't without some melancholy thoughts as well. Once he had mastered these…he would no longer be a student. If Tsuyoshi acted like a normal sensei would, he would then dismiss him and tell him to strike out on his own. Then Chipp's life would once again be his own…and for the life of him he had no idea what to do with it. He had cleaned his spirit, but he didn't know what to do from there.

It took a few minutes, but Chipp arrived at the apartment complex. Old…grimy…dirty…boarded up…costing a mere 400 world dollars a month for rent… It was yet another exercise in humbleness. Yet Chipp loved the old place. It was the first place he had ever felt truly at home.

He went up the short staircase to the front door, ignored the obscene graffiti sprayed on it, and pushed the button to make it automatically slide open. Once there, he began to make his way toward the staircase. He and his master lived on the second floor. As he did so, he looked out around the hallway for Angie, the six year old who lived on the lower floor and often played around on the steps. He thought of giving her his fortune cookie. He made his own fate now.

However, she wasn't there. In fact, as he looked around a bit when hitting the stairs, he saw that no one was out. That was strange. Normally at this time of day, the landlord would be sweeping the floor and the kids would be playing on the steps. It wasn't night yet, but it was already dangerous to be out, so playing in here was the best bet. Yet he saw nothing. All the doors were shut…even Mrs. Higgins, who always kept her door open a crack to listen for gossip, and who usually said hi to him.

The second floor was little better. All the doors were closed here too. Yet that made no sense. The floor was weak here. He should have at least heard clamor from overhead from people walking around. Yet he heard nothing. The place was as quiet as a tomb. In fact…there was only one door open: his own.

While the front door had been of the sliding kind, the ones for each room were old fashion hinged and bolted ones. And this one was now cracked ajar. Chipp turned and began to make for it. Tsuyoshi didn't usually leave his door open… This was rather weird that he should when everyone else was closed…

He got a few steps closer…before he began to slow down.

He noticed that the door was different. It had always been battered and old, but now he noticed that there was a fresh dent across it…a big one that had splintered it. Something very hard had hit it from the outside. Behind it, in the crack, he could just see the chain hanging loosely from one screw. It had been broken off.

The food was dropped to the floor and forgotten. Chipp's eyes widened in fear. Immediately, he ran forward. He kept one arm stiff, but the other one balled into a fist. He was soon at the door, and he promptly broke it inward. It split off a moment later, not able to take the impact of two powerful blows. The youth looked inside in horror.

The place was a wreck. What few paintings Tsuyoshi had owned were torn and ripped down. The wallpaper was shredded, and a small table they had near the front door was thrown down and torn asunder. Up ahead, down the hallway, he just saw the wide open living room. It had nothing but mats, weapon racks, and uncovered windows. It had been the largest room in the apartment, and so it had been their training room. Now…he saw blood staining the walls and floors of it.

Chipp immediately ran in and rushed forward. His eyes darted to the sides as he did so, looking into his room and Tsuyoshi's as he came in. His room was untouched. Tsuyoshi's closet was open and his personal weapon rack was missing his sword. He continued to run forward until he saw the source of some of the blood. A thug…dirty and wielding a gun…lay dead on the ground, his throat cut open. He charged forward a bit more and broke into the main training room. There, lying around him in pools of blood, were three more dead goons. Each one had been dispatched quickly and powerfully. Their blood stained the walls, and their struggles had smashed up some racks and roughed up the mats.

Yet Chipp cared nothing for any of this…just for the body up ahead.

There lay Tsuyoshi…on his back in a pool of his own blood.

"Master!"

The youth wasted no time. He immediately ran forward, stepping on the dead bodies, and up to his mentor's side. He bent down next to him immediately, and quickly reached out and felt his face. It was still pink…but the flesh was cold. Eyes filling with desperation and fear, Chipp reached for his neck next.

No pulse.

The youth's eyes began to mist as he looked frantic. Hopeless as it was, he quickly began to implement the CPR training Tsuyoshi had taught him. He compressed the chest thirty times, and then methodically began to breathe into the man's mouth twice. The whole time, his body quivered with terror and desperation. He continued to do this after receiving no result the first time. He did so again after that…and again after that, each time growing more frantic and wild. Tears began to roll from his eyes, and he began to call out to the man…telling him to live and that he couldn't die. He pumped and pushed until he broke every rib in the man's chest. He breathed so hard that his lungs bulged. He kept thinking that he saw a twitch…that Tsuyoshi was coming out of it. That only made him try harder.

Fifteen minutes went by…before he finally slowed down in the midst of doing his latest chest compressions. As he did, he stared on at the cold face of the man…and accepted the truth. Slowly, he finished his compressions, all while still staring at the ninja. He had been too cold. The blood on the floors and walls was old. He had been lying here dead for at least ten minutes before he even came in. Since then…brain damage would have finished him off even if he had lived. It didn't matter how hard he tried or how much he wanted to now.

He was dead.

Chipp slowly sprawled his arms out over the dead man, his arms on either side. He looked down at his face, seeing how hard it looked even in death. His eyes had been shut, and his jaw was set. He was majestic even now. Swallowing…the youth bent his arms over him one more time, and this time pulled his body up and off of the ground. He pressed him against his breast, put his head down on top of his own, and began to cry again.

He couldn't believe it. It seemed impossible that he could actually be here…that this man could be lying dead in his arms. He had been unstoppable in life. No one could hold a candle to him. He was the deadliest person on Earth.

Tsuyoshi had given him his life back. He had been his first friend, his great teacher, and the only father he ever had. He saved him when everyone else thought he was human garbage. He had never known anyone kinder or nobler than him. He was all that Chipp had ever really had. And now…he was gone.

The youth wasn't sure how long he sobbed there…how long it felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest and stomped on. Never before had he cared for another person so much. Until now, all of his misery had always been drowned in drugs and money. Yet now he felt true pain. There wasn't enough Toxic Candy on Earth to bring Tsuyoshi back from the dead. All in the money in the world meant nothing to him if he didn't have his mentor. He felt so vulnerable and alone…so miserable and broken… He hadn't cried this much for himself in his entire life. In a way…Tsuyoshi had taught him one final thing toward making him human again…how to love another more than yourself.

Yet even as he cried and sobbed…Chipp's eyes began to wander around the room. Tsuyoshi's hand still held his blade…the blade with which four people had been slain quite easily. Chipp looked to them…and recognized the type. He had dealings with people like this before. They were assassins for hire. Not that good…but effective in large numbers. But they hadn't been effective now. Tsuyoshi had cut each one of them down. Chipp didn't understand. Tsuyoshi could take anyone. How could any of these peons have managed to kill him? He didn't even see a wound on his chest…

Yet as Chipp held his master's body, he did feel something. His back was very damp in one spot, right over the heart area. When he reached up and felt, he noticed a wound there…a bullet wound. He had been shot in the back. But that made no sense. Chipp knew his master would never have given his back to an enemy. That was one of the first lessons he was taught. How could any of them possibly have gotten around them without dying?

Chipp looked up, as if somehow over and around him he would see the answer. As it turned out…he did.

The windows had no curtains. He and Tsuyoshi saved on electricity by letting natural light flood their homemade dojo. You could clearly see outside of them. But specifically…Chipp saw that one of the windows had been broken. The glass was shatterproof, and so he was easily able to deduce what had done it. A small bullet hole was in the center of one of the panes. Based on the angle, it had to have come from across the street on a rooftop. So that was how they had done it.

Tsuyoshi had made some enemies. Saving targets like Chipp had been noble, but not to who planned on killing them. Missing a hit meant that those who you tried to intimidate knew they could get away with some things. They wouldn't obey you unless they knew you could get them no matter what. Tsuyoshi had just been a wandering vigilante, but he had stopped quite a few hits in his time. As a result, both he and Chipp knew that several assassin syndicates had been contracted to terminate him. Yet he never worried. None of them ever tried to make a move against Tsuyoshi, likely because they knew that there was no way they could win. Tsuyoshi could fight a room full of assassins without breaking a sweat.

So this was how they got him. They couldn't beat him in a straight fight…so they had acted cowardly. They sent in some goons and let him go about killing them one by one. They had known the whole time that Tsuyoshi would kill them instantly. Likely…they did this on purpose. They sent them to their deaths, so that while he was busy killing them they could position a sniper across the street. He shot him in the back…because he knew he could never beat him in a straight fight.

Seeing this…seeing how a good man had died…and died at the hands of cowards…Chipp's sadness slowly began to fade. Anger began to replace it…rage. Tsuyoshi was worth a thousand of these gangsters…and had actually tried to make something out of this world. And they had killed him. That's what they did. Every time someone stood up to them…tried to break their control over this city…they simply had them killed. They thought so little of people. No doubt…they were probably gloating now over how they had killed the great Tsuyoshi, as if they had somehow bested him in skill when they had only won through their own treachery.

Tsuyoshi deserved better than this.

This city deserved better than this.

Chipp's tears dried up. His quivering lips locked into a sneer. Slowly, he placed his master back on the floor. But once he did so, he stopped being gentle. He turned rigid and hard. His reddish-brown eyes blazed, and both hands became fists. Sniffing one last time to dry up his sadness, Chipp stood up, turned, and coldly began to walk out of his apartment to pick up the trail before it grew faint.

* * *

"Good work." 

In response to saying this, one of the six remaining assassins glared at the sniper, gritting his teeth in fury. "Good work?" He angrily snapped back. "You f'ing idiot! Four of my boys died going after that damn lunatic! All so we could keep him busy long enough for you to shoot him!"

The sniper didn't seem to be miffed much by the man, although he was yelling at him in a way that promised violence. He simply finished closing the case on his sniper rifle. It was balanced on a wooden crate at the moment, of which there were plenty inside the warehouse where he and his cohorts had picked to rendezvous after taking out the old man. It was dim and shady in here, being one of the older ones and likely for some foo-foo company that sold wine or something. They were the only ones who could afford wooden crates. Probably family owned.

At any rate, it was the warehouse which spooked him far more than that the old man he had just offed. He knew something about that guy. Years ago, he had been trying to go after a target. This was when he was just some enforcer, and hadn't trained in gunnery. Some stupid junkie that had tried to cut and run on the Mafia. He had roughed him up good, gave him twenty four hours to pay the money, then leaned back and waited for the next move. Sure enough, the twerp tried to jump town. He called a group on him and they dragged him into a warehouse like this one to finish him off. As luck would have it, the same old man he had popped tonight had broken in and killed every last assassin he sent. Hence he had a bit of a personal vendetta against this guy, and he was smart enough to not try to shoot him in the front.

"You're still getting paid the same, so now you've got to split it six ways instead of ten." The sniper answered as he pulled off his black ski-mask. "This guy was trouble. The notoriety you'll get for killing him will be more than worth what you lost."

"I ain't no crime kingpin!" The assassin bleated behind him. "I've got high quality employees! Not stupid disposable goons like these bigger gangs!"

The sniper merely snorted. "If they were so high quality, how come four of them are dead? Besides, I didn't hire you. Complain to whoever mailed us the checks if you want to bitch."

"You _knew_ what this dipsh't could do to us! You didn't tell us a damn-"

The assassin cut himself off. The sniper smiled at that. Stupid loudmouth probably realized he wasn't getting anywhere yelling at him now. He should save his wind for whoever called the job. Too bad it seemed to take a second for this to sink in. Guy must have been dumber than he looked. Of course, complaining there probably wouldn't do any good either. He might even end up dead if the dude was high up enough and not wanting to deal with his bitching.

The sniper began to pull off his gloves as he turned around. "Now let's get out of here. Cops might still be in this neighborhood, bad as it is. And I'd rather-"

When he finished turning…the man froze.

All six of the remaining assassins were lying on the ground dead. A single new person stood in their midst. His eyes blazed in rage and his muscles were tight as iron. His face focused on the sniper with absolute hatred.

"…You killed Tsuyoshi."

The sniper narrowed his gaze for a moment in confusion. At first, he had been shocked on seeing the other assassins suddenly dead and on the ground. He hadn't heard a single noise, and not even a whisper of a struggle. Yet then he focused back on the youth standing in their midst. As he looked over him…he started to recognize things. The last time he saw this face, it was blubbering, bruised, bloody, and begging for life. Yet now…it was as hard as rock, and filled with murderous passion. But despite this, he recognized who it was.

"…You… You're that little junkie twerp that tried to bail town! You're the reason I lost those enforcers two years ago!"

The youth stared back…looking not very much like a junkie or a twerp at this point. Yet the sniper didn't wait for him to react. Sneering, he reached for his sidearm. He'd get both of these embarrassments in one night…

The youth moved so fast…that it wasn't until he saw his arm falling off of his severed shoulder and felt the warm blood splash in his face that he felt the pain.

Abruptly, the sniper's eyes widened. He turned back to the man right before he cried out in agony. A sound of splattering went out as blood poured from his severed shoulder and began to drop on the ground, drenching his severed limb that had landed a moment earlier. Somehow, in the blinding pain and anguish that now flooded his system, he saw what had happened. The old junkie had been wearing a coat and keeping one of his arms stiff until now. But he had dashed forward and bent his arm…and on doing so a long, razor-sharp blade mounted to his wrist sliced through his sleeve and was brought down on his shoulder.

The sniper continued to yell for a moment…but before he could even think of countering this somehow, the youth swung his blade out again. Soon after, his other arm joined the one already on the ground. The pain intensified as blood flew everywhere.

The sniper couldn't believe what he was seeing. Both of his arms were now on the ground. In the span of five seconds, he had lost half of his limbs. His mind was almost unable to grasp what had happened to him. Something in his brain didn't accept it. He was stunned in horror, frozen in his position…

Eventually, however, the junkie tired of this. As the sniper kept crying out, he lashed out with one foot and kicked his body squarely in the chest. Unable to balance himself with his arms, he was thrown back against the same crate he had his rifle on. It was useless now. He'd never fire a gun again. Once there, the youth advanced and kicked him again, bending him over it. Once that was done, he lunged forward, swung his blade around, and aimed the razor-sharp point at his throat. The sniper's pain was forgotten…or at least shut off mentally…as he stared at the weapon.

"Who sent you?" The youth snapped. "Talk! While you still have two legs!"

The sniper's old persona had melted away. The rough man he had once been, bold and intimidating, was gone. The junkie he once had made beg at his feet now had his life in his hands, and he suddenly felt very helpless and small. It was as if the world had been twisted around. He couldn't lie.

"I don't know!" He cried in fear. "They just sent me a check with a name on it!"

"If you're lying to me…"

"I swear it's the truth! I swear to God!"

"Swear to _me_!"

"Every organization in town wanted him out of the way! There's no way to tell which one put out the contract! He'd been cutting in on business too long!"

"Then I'll be cutting in on _them!_ I'll tear this town apart until I find out who did it! And if I find out you lied to me I'll tear _you_ apart with my bare hands!"

A fist lashed out…and the sniper's world turned to black.

Later, he'd discover the ambulance reached him just in time before he bled to death. His career was over as a hit man after that. He obtained good prostheses, and there was a chance that he could still fire off a gun. In fact, some organizations insisted that he take up sniping for them again.

But the man never could wield a gun again.

And every night for the rest of his life…he was haunted by the memory of all the people he had killed mercilessly over the years…with a white-haired ninja hovering over him and laughing all the while.

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: The Good Doctor...


	3. The Good Doctor

**The Good Doctor**

* * *

The surgical aides watched in anticipation as the last few seconds ticked down on the clock. Although many of them had seen this before, it was still a marvel to behold. They never grew tired of watching it, for each new patient was a slightly different challenge.

Although at one point in history medical students had regarded these special surgery observation chambers as glorified arenas, only with this doctor could it rightly be called so. This special surgery ward came with high walls and a sort of ampitheater around it. Normally this was used for surgery students to watch delicate operations. No one usually did that nowadays. There were far more sensitive recording devices that could capture images in 3D and replay them, so that actual observation was unnecessary. Yet in this particular hospital in Hong Kong…they had a different purpose.

Only a few people in the audience were doctors. Most of the others were citizens, marveling and watching with eager anticipation. They were ones with strong stomachs, of course…for many passed out when they watched the surgeon here go to work. But many more marveled and applauded his skill. No one else on Earth was capable of doing what this man did. In the medical world, it was hard to ever say that one was the best at something. But this man was the best here. No ifs, ands, or buts.

One particular doctor had heard this many times before. Dr. Bodkin sat with legs and arms crossed and tiredly waited for this showman to appear. His face was far more critical, and his manner far more unpleasant. While the crowd was getting exited, he thought of them all as great buffoons…treating a delicate area like this like it was a sports complex. This helped his prejudgments about the surgeon, further confirming to him that he was a quack and a fraud. He pitied the patients below.

It was unusual for a surgeon to perform work on more than one patient at a time…but it was very unusual for one to perform _three_ surgeries at once. Especially with how rough these procedures were. Tumor removal…one on the liver, one on the pancreas, and one on the cerebrum. Each one was malignant. Bodkin had confirmed these reports himself. Each case was authentic and no fraud, and each patient below him was not a dummy but very real. Two of them were anesthetized, but the third was wide awake. Despite all the advances in medical science that had been done, a patient still had to be conscious during brain surgery.

The operations were to begin promptly at noon. The surgeon looked to the clock, and saw that it was still ten seconds 'til. He frowned. What was he supposed to be…a barker? If he could do these surgeries earlier, why not go to it? He was treating these patients as if they were merely circus acts for him to perform with. Although it was a grim thought…he actually _wanted_ to see him fail. It would be unfortunate for a poor soul below, but it would keep this actor from doing anything else wrong.

The aides brightened up as the last second turned off and noon struck.

Immediately, the door flung open. In he came, strutting and calm in his stride.

Bodkin's eyes raised. He had heard stories about how unusual Dr. Faustus Baldhead looked…but they didn't begin to do him justice now. The man was a lanky giant…easily eight feet tall. He looked like he had to have his OR scrubs specially tailored for him, given his size and build. He walked in easily enough, but he was so thin and stringy that he almost looked like some oversized scarecrow or giant spider. Baldhead wasn't a nickname, but the man did have a rather egg-like head completely void of hair. At the moment his face was concealed with a surgical mask, and his eyes were hidden behind coke bottle lenses that turned them into bright lights in the glare of the OR.

As soon as he was in the room, he stood straight to his full height and clapped his rubber-gloved hands together. "Alright…let's get these people well!" He announced with a booming voice of bravado. The people around Bodkin cheered and clapped in result. He looked around in amazement and disgust. He was right…this was like a sport's arena. He thought almost of jumping down and saving the patients from this madman…but he preferred much more to watch as he failed. That would prove to them all what a show-off and ninny he was. And so, he leaned back and waited.

As Dr. Baldhead made his way over to the first patient, the surgical aids, seeming to dote on him as well as serve him, quickly rushed over to his side. On reaching the first, he laced his fingers together, gave a mighty crack, and then turned to the first aide.

"My scalpel, if you please."

Dr. Bodkin was soon amazed to see the aide respond by not picking a small tool off of a surgical tray, but rather reaching down under the stretcher and coming back with a very long carrying case of some sort. Bodkin was astonished. Did he have a set of lucky tools or something? Were they magically endowed? Was that why this quack was so successful, or at least allegedly so?

Moving with his nimble, long fingers, Dr. Baldhead opened the case and reached inside. Dr. Bodkin was shocked again as the man proceeded to hoist a _seven-foot scalpel_ out of it. Whistling a bit, he spun it around and wielded it in his hands like a spear, before bringing it down and brandishing it like a calligrapher's brush. With one easy hop, Dr. Baldhead leapt onto the table, now standing over the unconscious body of the patient with the huge scalpel poised to strike.

The people in the crowd cheered at seeing Dr. Baldhead pull out his massive scalpel, as if some star player had taken the field. After that, they quickly grew silent and watched in anticipation. But Dr. Bodkin was overwhelmed. Was everyone crazy? This lunatic was going to slice up this person like a tomato! They were just sitting here…egging him on? He couldn't stand it. He was in the most insane community in the world. They all had to be nuts…each one of them waiting for blood. He couldn't stand it. He had to do something before it was too late…

Yet before he could move…Dr. Baldhead brought the scalpel down.

As Bodkin watched in horror, he swished it around like a spoon stirring tea. He gasped and leaned back, expecting Dr. Baldhead to leave the body a mutilated wreck… Yet the surgeon only hummed to himself as he kept twisting and turning his blade, moving it in progressively smaller sections with each move.

Yet as Bodkin watched…he saw that no blood went flying. No screams went out. No damage was done. Everyone was perfectly calm and quiet. Despite Dr. Baldhead's movements, this was acting just like a normal surgery. The surgeon himself slowly pulled back forward, slowly coming out of his position and looking down to see what Dr. Baldhead was doing.

He couldn't believe it. The man was operating…operating with that massive scalpel. Yet he maneuvered it with such skill and grace and focus… Bodkin had never seen the like. He wasn't moving carefully or slowly like all the other surgeons Bodkin had ever met…but it didn't matter. All of his cuts were perfect, and so fast and neat that they hardly left a drop of blood. In less than thirty seconds, Dr. Baldhead was all the way to the abdominal cavity. Now whistling, he bent down and grabbed a few clamps from the nurse, and promptly and smoothly inserted them to keep the cavity open. Once that was done, he went back up and moved his scalpel again. Eight seconds. That was how long it took before Dr. Baldhead hopped off, reached into the cavity, and calmly pulled out the severed portion of the infected liver. It was perfect. The entire infected region had been removed with just the barest part of clean tissue around it, ensuring that none of the malignancy had spread any farther and as much of the liver itself was retained as possible.

Next he took up the sutures. Normally, this portion took anywhere from half of the operation to most of it. Not so with Dr. Baldhead. Bodkin watched as he swished his arm rapidly in circles. At first, he thought he was limbering up or something for the stitching. But he wasn't. He was just stitching the man closed that quickly. In no time at all, the severed portion of the liver was all stitched up. Next came the cavity, the muscle layers, and finally the outer layer of skin. The whole procedure that should have taken hours took all of two minutes. Normally a blood transplant was needed, but Dr. Baldhead had moved so fast that the patient barely had time to bleed. After delicately bandaging up the incision marks, he leapt off of the table and onto the next.

Dr. Bodkin couldn't believe it. The man moved with such fluidity it was as if he was doing some sort of rapid, mastered dance. Despite his gangly appearance and mannerisms, he operated in moments. After another two minutes, the pancreatic tumor was gone as well. That done, he leapt over to the next table.

This patient was conscious, and despite how quickly Dr. Baldhead had worked was rather nervous. She trembled slightly as she lay prone on the table, awaiting the first cut. She couldn't see it, but she dreaded it. Yet Dr. Baldhead hesitated here, and didn't dive right in as he had before. He seemed to see his patient's anxiety. And so, he bent down slightly and spoke out to her.

"Mrs. Ani?"

"…Y-Y-Yes…?"

"You're really tense right now, so I'm going to ask you a few questions to relax you before we get started. Alright?"

"…Alright."

"Are you married?"

"…N-N-No…but there's this guy who works in the same department as me…I kind of like him."

"We'll get you right back to him in no time. Any pets?"

"A dog…and two cats."

"What are their names?"

"Well…Buddy…Felix…and Twostep."

"Mmm hmm… Mind reciting your alphabet?"

The woman did so.

"Can you count to ten?"

"Yes…one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten."

"Fantastic. What are you going to do after I get you all better?"

"Well…I'd kind of like to just stop having dizzy spells."

"I hear you. Say, Mrs. Ani?"

"Yes?"

"Guess what?"

"What?"

"You're all done."

And so she was. Dr. Baldhead finished putting on the last bit of medical tape over the sutures on her skull as he said this. Unbelievable. A procedure that would have taken over twelve hours and the most skilled hands…and Dr. Baldhead had done it while chewing the fat with his patient. It was as easy for him as giving a person a shot.

The crowd rose up and began to applaud. Cheers rained down from overhead. Mrs. Ani, shocked at the fact that she was done already, stared out in bewilderment as the nurses started to wheel her out to recover. Yet a smile began to creep on her face as she went on. As for Dr. Baldhead, he handed his massive scalpel over to a pair of aides for washing. He turned to his adoring fans, whirled his hand around once in bravado, and then took a graceful bow. After doing so, he calmly turned back to the doorway and strutted out.

Bodkin blinked in shock, the only one not on his feet and cheering. What he had just seen was medically impossible. Dr. Baldhead hadn't been in the room eight minutes…and all three patients were finished and cured. How was that possible? Had he been tricked somehow? Were they not real patients? They looked real enough, and they looked real when he had begun. Yet he had treated them all so quickly. Until now, he thought it was a gross exaggeration that Dr. Faustus Baldhead claimed to have operated on over a thousand people in a single day. But if his eyes weren't playing tricks on him…then he could easily see it happening.

The organization had been right. If he truly was this good…then he needed to talk with him soon.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, and Dr. Bodkin was sitting in the man's office. Even this part didn't seem traditional. He had a desk and chairs and the traditional fair, but all of it was of a much poorer quality than seen in most doctor's offices. Over by the window sat his computer (as no paper files for patients existed anymore) and a mini-fridge. He didn't even have central air. A window unit was cooling off the room. Most unconventional, however, was the fact that he didn't have any credentials on the walls. No degrees. No certificates of advanced training. Nothing. He had a few awards that he had been given by communities and groups, but nothing else. 

Dr. Bodkin had used the stint between now and the operation to check in on the patients. Perfectly done. They had been very real, and now they were very cured. It was amazing. As large and awkward as one would think that giant scalpel would be, the surgeon had performed wonders with it. He was a miracle worker…nothing less. Of course, part of that might have had to do with the fact that Dr. Bodkin had seen his file, and noted that he had been classified as a class B magic. That was one level below a Gear. That had to account for some of it. But still…

A hiss of steam went out, and Dr. Bodkin turned slightly behind him to the source. There he was. He still had his scrubs on, although they were fresh now, and a long white medical coat. He had ditched his face mask although his eyes were still little flashlights in the glare of the lamps. To tell the truth…Bodkin wished that he was still wearing the mask. His mouth was unnaturally large and toothy. When he smiled, it was like looking at the Big Bad Wolf. Or some giant spider, considering how huge and lanky he was.

Dr. Baldhead made his way over to his chair and sat down. On the way down, however, he leaned over and extended a long, spidery hand out to his fellow surgeon. Now, face to face with the odd giant, Dr. Bodkin suddenly felt a wave of fear. This man was far too weird to behold. Yet somehow, he swallowed it down and forced himself to believe that he was just another surgeon. He leaned over and took his hand.

He soon winced. Dr. Baldhead's grasp was as firm as stone and as tight as steel. Small wonder he was such a good surgeon.

"Dr. Bodkin, I presume?" The giant addressed him. He released his hand and leaned back in his chair. His long, lanky legs were propped up and placed on his desk. "I heard you'd be visiting me today."

Bodkin swallowed, smoothing himself out, and then leaned back a bit more in his own chair. "And you are Dr. Baldhead, I presume." That was a dumb statement. No one would ever mistake Baldhead for anyone else after seeing his physiology once. "World Renown Independent Surgeon. The man who once cured a person of radiation poisoning by cutting out each and every part of his infected tissue before his whole body was contaminated. The man who operated on a seemingly inseparable pair of conjoined twins that had the medical world stumped."

Baldhead smiled and gave a shrug. "Donald and Meryl are still doing fine as separate lives after five years. I know about my past successes, doctor. Can we just cut to the chase?"

Bodkin looked around the room again after a moment, and then back to Baldhead. "I didn't believe it for myself until I saw it today. I thought you were a showman or an illusionist. And you did all this without any medical credentials. No proper training."

Baldhead gave a shrug again at this. "No credentials, maybe. But from where I came from, medical school was a bit hard to come by and even harder to afford. I studied out of libraries, practiced on lab specimens from high school, and got my start by being kind of a last hope for desperate people. I'm happy to say that after forty years of practicing, I've still never lost a patient. Guess my training method worked out pretty well, don't you?"

Bodkin didn't answer this. He had spent quite a bit of his own time and money going to the most prestigious college of surgery in the country. Yet he still couldn't operate half as fast or as clean as Baldhead. He swallowed again and straightened himself up a bit.

"As you said, Dr. Baldhead, I should get to the point. My point is that the World Health Organization is again drawing back a chair for you, this time in one of the most-"

Baldhead cut him off with a smile.

"Not interested."

Bodkin frowned slightly at this, and gave a sigh.

"We're offering you quite a practice, Dr. Baldhead. And this is the first time to someone who's never even had any formal training or accredation."

Baldhead merely smirked. "What's you're offering me, Dr. Bodkin, is a chance to pay overwhelming club due fees, insurance bills, and worst of all the restriction of only being able to operate on people who can pay an arm and a leg for it."

Bodkin kept his frown and sighed again. "I know about your history. I know you tend to work for next to nothing, and that you've been very altruistic in your private practice. I see you've won several awards for that. I'm not saying you have to stop this. You can still spend three months out of the year doing as much pro bono work as you want. All I want you to do is go to a place where there are plenty of people who need your skill."

Baldhead shook his head as he turned around to his mini-fridge. "I've got plenty of people who need my skill right here, Dr. Bodkin. And more people come in all the time. It costs them practically everything they have just to make the trip here and stay for the operation. How are these people supposed to afford living in a high-rise metropolitan area?"

Baldhead had a soda now, and he turned and began to drink it as he looked back to Bodkin. The latter surgeon, however, was growing frustrated.

"For goodness sake, man…" He continued. "You're the best surgeon on the face of the Earth. You're making the salary of a nursing home orderly. Money may mean nothing to you, but what about those you employ? They have families if you don't. Or foundations? You could start a trust fund, for crying out loud. Or an endeavor to cure diseases. You'd be able to give it millions a ye-"

"Why don't you tell me why you _really_ want me to join your little organization?"

Bodkin cut himself off there, and stared blankly at Baldhead. "Excuse me?"

Baldhead took another swig. "Am I supposed to believe that you really came all the way down here just to try and persuade some independent, non-licensed doctor to be part of your little group? I'll tell you why you really came here. You're here because ever since that article was published on me last year, people have been flocking to me. Some of them come because they have problems no one else can cure. But most of them come because they don't need insurance or to mortgage their house to get me to operate on them. I don't have any insurance bills to worry about and I can get them out almost as fast as they come in without having to wait on lists. Now that was just fine and dandy so long as I was just a local doctor…even a famous doctor, so long as I kept things isolated. But no. I put my name out. I put out the claim that I could cure anyone. I claimed I'd do it faster and better than anyone else.

"Now look at the result. People from all over the world are coming in. Not just those who can't afford another surgeon. Middle-class patients. Rich patients. Most importantly…_your_ patients."

Bodkin's eyes widened, and he pulled back in his chair, looking insulted. "Dr. Baldhead…are you trying to suggest that the reason I'm here is because I think that we're losing money because of you?"

"If the shoe fits." Dr. Baldhead immediately answered.

The man looked indignant. "I don't believe this! We're both doctors here! And you're just one man!"

"But I'm the best." Dr. Baldhead answered without the slightest reservation. "Right now I might just be inconveniencing you. The richest patients are going to me instead of you. The disorders you used to be prided on curing are coming to me to be taken care of faster and better. But you're scared. You see too many people are coming to me. You see people are favoring me. Before, I was nothing to worry about. You were all part of one big happy system. The rates were the same anywhere and everyone had to go through the channels. But now…I'm competition. It's like true capitalism. I found a way to do it faster and better. You know that, and so people are coming to me. Soon, people will start realizing that when I can fix them better than you can for much cheaper, they'll come to me all the more.

"And what really scares you is that I won't stay just one man for long. I'll teach others to be as good as me. I'll start a new school of practice. Then you won't have to worry about just one mortal who will eventually die. You'll worry about a whole new generation taking patients off your charts and money out of your pockets."

Dr. Bodkin's face flushed in anger. He began to rise in his chair. "How dare you! You conceited hack! You think you're so perfect and good! You think because you never had to sit through a single class of medical school that you're a better man than any surgeon on Earth! You think you can tell me to my face that I treat lives in terms of profit? What kind of arrogant son of a bitch do you think you are? You're going to sit there and call yourself a saint and the rest of us sinners because we don't subscribe to your system?"

Dr. Baldhead, however, only grew harder. He suddenly pulled himself back into his chair and then rose. Like a great menacing creature, he planted his hands on his desk and leaned over to glare at Dr. Bodkin, forcing the man to suddenly feel much smaller and weaker in comparison. Soon after, he backed down returned to his seat.

"The facts speak for themselves, doctor. You took your Hippocratic Oaths, earned your sheepskins, and clothed yourself in the mantle of healer and do-gooder. Well…each one of you only has to look out your windows to see good in need of being done. People are sick and dying all around you. People who can live productive full lives for just a few hours of your day are being neglected. Innocent children are being ravaged by all sorts of curable ailments, and you won't so much as lift a forceps to save them unless they line your pocket.

"Maybe I am just an idealistic fool, Dr. Bodkin. But if that's the case, so be it. If my cause is doomed to fail, then so be it. Because I can still look at my fellow man and see someone who is hurting who needs to be helped." His large mouth twisted into a large frown as his voice raised in volume. "You and your kind have learned to measure human life in terms of costs and benefits! All you see is how much they're worth to you! You'd operate on an 80-year-old woman over a 5-year-old girl if she was the only one of the two insured! Perhaps you didn't always see the world this way, but you've become too hardened by it to see it in any other fashion now! You've let what desire you had to actually save people be choked out by ambitions of money and costs!"

Dr. Baldhead leaned back here and went back into his chair. "I'm not just trying to save people here, doctor. I'm trying to make a new world. I'm trying to create a society of fairness and care for our fellow man. I hope one day you see that as something good and not a threat. But until you do, I've nothing else to say to you. Good day."

However, Dr. Bodkin did not answer this farewell. His face was now tight and livid with rage, and he looked on the brink of lashing out at the man. Balling his hands into fists, he rose up from his chair, turned, and stormed out of the room. He said no other words as he did. The door was slammed behind him, cracking the glass that read, "Dr. Faustus Baldhead".

The remaining surgeon drew in a deep breath and sighed…and then turned down to his latest case files.

* * *

Bodkin never fully recovered from that day. 

His work immediately went bad. He was so upset after that moment that he could barely focus on any of his patients. His hands shook more. He made simple mistakes. He forgot parts of procedures. No one suffered because of it, but it was still too much for him. He took a few months leave of absence. Yet even after three months and returning to his job, his blood was still boiling.

Day in and day out…Dr. Bodkin thought of what Dr. Baldhead had said. He thought of him being in that room. He thought of him spelling out the facts of life. And he thought of himself…thought about how all he ever did was treat people who could afford it. He thought about how his clientele was almost entirely made of the rich or higher. He thought of the countless multitude of sick around him that never had treated. Last but not least…he thought of himself. He thought of himself having violated his oaths, having lost his spark for curing people, and having degenerated into a person who only thought in terms of profit and loss. He began to wonder how much of what Dr. Baldhead said was true. He began to wonder if he was indeed just some businessman who treated his practice as such, and wondered if he truly cared about his patients at all.

At this point, a man might have seriously rethought his life. He might have concluded that a change was needed. Perhaps he would have gone to Baldhead's extreme. Perhaps he would have donated more time or gave more money to charity. Yet there was another mental effect that was possible…cognitive dissonance. A person realizes that something is wrong with the way they are living, something contrary to their own thoughts and beliefs. Instead of changing it, however, they look to see why their way of living is right and not wrong. What makes it special. And in this case…Dr. Bodkin's relief was in projection.

How _dare_ that man insult him.

He thought he was so great and special. He thought he was a miracle worker, the supreme guardian of life and death. He thought that because he wasn't formerly trained and such a success that he was all that. The man had never studied for a single exam, worked hard to correct a technique, or slaved on a residency a day in his life. Bodkin and other good doctors had put in their time and dues. They had worked themselves hard to become great healers. And this guy…this conceited skinny man thought he was better. He had never worked to become good at anything. He just jumped in with a devil-may-care attitude and thought he could change the world. He thought he was so much better. He was worse. He was far worse.

When he operated…he flashed around that knife like some psychotic lunatic. He treated the whole procedure as a game. He was having fun…having fun with people's lives. He was enjoying cutting them up. That was why he moved so fast…so recklessly… That was why he saw so many a day. He didn't care anything about his patients. He just wanted to satisfy his sadistic pleasures. He wanted to see them bleed and sliced open. He thought he was so great…but he was just a nut. He wasn't just arrogant…he was crazy. He was dangerous. If people followed after his example, countless innocent patients would die. He was a madman, and every single person who went to him was risking their lives. One of these days he'd kill one, and then they'd see.

They only thought he was great because he hadn't botched up yet. One day he'd kill a patient. Then they'd be sorry. It wouldn't take much. Everyone knew he was crazy already with how he operated. Everyone knew he was dangerous and psychotic in operations. He was practically a Gear with his magical level as it was. He was a nutcase. He had to be locked away. But no one had any evidence. That was because no one had been screwed up on yet. Everyone recovered flawlessly from each surgery. If he made a mistake…one slight screw up…one missed cut where it wasn't supposed to be…the world would bar him from ever practicing again. They'd see him for what he really was. Just one little botched surgery…

Then one day came the call. The World Health Organization called in on Dr. Bodkin…saying that Dr. Baldhead was a threat. He was publicly talking about opening his own medical school. When that happened…the rationalizations quickly followed. The only sensible people who would train under him would be lunatics. They'd all be cutting freaks, and they'd massacre countless patients. Who knew how many people would die if he was allowed to do this? He was going to take dirty, stupid civilians without even a basic knowledge of a cell and make them into educated killers. He was out of control. He had to be stopped, before people stopped looking at real doctors and toward quacks like him.

This had to be done. For the good of everyone, not just himself.

Just one botch.

Believing that one patient's life was worth countless others…and that keeping the sacred trust in doctors intact was the highest goal of all…Dr. Bodkin made a phone call to the janitors working in Baldhead's lab.

* * *

It started off just like any other day. 

Dr. Baldhead had no reason to believe this wouldn't end up just like any other surgery. And so, he walked right in just as he always had, promptly at noon. There was the crowd overhead, cheering their heads off. There were his aides, eagerly awaiting him to take his position. He was dressed and the room was prepared.

And there was his patient, already anesthetized and waiting for him to make her well.

Dr. Baldhead knew Nancy Rui very well. The little girl was one of the few patients who had spent a long time in his clinic. She had a series of tumors growing on her major blood vessels near her heart. Each one was considered impossible to remove unless the heart was stopped and several hours of surgery followed. A normal surgeon would have gone in and taken them all out at once. But that intensive surgery might have proven fatal to one Nancy's age, and even Baldhead couldn't risk doing it all at once. Yet if they waited it could be too late. Any day now one of the tumors could grow large enough to block off an artery, or could simply turn malignant.

There was one solution. Baldhead was good enough to perform a series of smaller surgeries without stopping the heart. Each one only took two or three tumors, but wasn't as invasive or draining so that she had time to recover between each operation.

This was one of Dr. Baldhead's more controversial moves. For the first time ever, even his closest associates told him to take his time with this surgery. Stop the heart. Get them all out at once. It was a risk, yes…but this was the first time this kind of procedure had ever been attempted on a live, beating heart. Dr. Baldhead could of said yes…but the tumors were so distinct he believed he could have gotten them out with more ease. Also…he wondered countless times after that day if something in his brain was daring him, telling him that this was finally a surgery he had to go by the book on. And he felt challenged by that. He could do this. He was the best.

Dr. Baldhead had met with Nancy several times before this, each time reassuring her that she would be better soon. She believed him, trusting him completely. At that age, when a doctor told you something, you believed him. You put your life totally into his or her hands and you trusted that they'd make everything right. And that's what Baldhead was waiting for…seeing her smile at him and know she'd have a long, full life ahead of her…that she could count on him to never let her down.

He went to her table. The case was presented, and out came his seven-foot scalpel. Up he went onto the operating table. Humming and perfectly calm, he went back over the previous incisions and opened Nancy up again. A few clamps later…and there it was. All of the previous tumors had been removed. Only the smallest and most benign remained. There was a chance that it would work out fine and never metastasize, but neither Baldhead nor Nancy's family wanted to take that risk. He could get rid of it now. He had saved it for this moment because it was against the aorta. Six seconds. Maybe less. A transfusion was already prepared in case she bled too much, but that would be how long it would take to cut it out and stitch it closed.

Down came the scalpel.

It was like a dream…or more likely, a nightmare. He swung it perfectly. He lowered it just the right amount it needed and applied just the right force he had always used. He knew exactly how to do it. He had seen his limbs and the scalpel respond perfectly to his grace and movement in the past. And yet…he watched as his scalpel went deeper and sliced both the aorta and the superior vena cava in two.

His eyes widened. His breath caught in his throat. He froze. With his speed and skill…he might have still saved her. But he couldn't believe what he had done. He had gone right past the tumor and done this. His body was frozen…his eyes paralyzed into watching dark blood and red blood flow freely out into the chest cavity he had made. He didn't hear the aides gasp or scream. He didn't react as one of them desperately and futilely reached out and tried to clamp the wound shut. When that happened…blood splurted out and painted a nearby wall. The crowd screamed. A second later, and the heart stopped. Blood still staining her face, Nancy Rui had gone still forever. Dr. Baldhead…not able to comprehend it…not able to believe what had happened…telling himself this was a horrible nightmare again and again…could only stare as his aides pleaded for him to do something, even as towels dipped into Nancy's chest to start drying up the blood.

He didn't remember anything after that…not until four hours had passed, and he suddenly saw the operating room clean, dark, an aide tugging at his shoulder, and himself still stained with Nancy's blood as he stared at the blank spot where she had been.

* * *

Everything fell apart soon after. 

Several doctors, Bodkin included, went on the news. They called him a charlatan and a freak. Psychiatrists who Baldhead had never even talked to came on and conclusively diagnosed him as a surgery maniac. He had sliced up people just to get on some emotional high…maybe even a sexual one. He was completely insane, and an event like this was doomed to eventually happen. Nancy's parents came on next in tears, calling themselves idiots for ever having trusted a psychopath. They were soon followed by relatives of other patients…sometimes the patients themselves…saying that Baldhead had always enjoyed operating on them too much, and how helpless and victimized they felt when he waved his blade around like a maniac. Last but not least…he own aides came forward and said that he had always scared them in the OR.

Blacklisting followed. All of his clients pulled out in the span of three days. It didn't matter…he was barred from practicing medicine in Hong Kong. Soon, every other major city on Earth was seconding that motion before he even applied. His dream of making a new medical school died. His dream of ever helping anyone through surgery died. It no longer mattered. He was apoplectic now. He couldn't so much as cut hair.

As each member of his staff quit, rioters came by and covered his hospital in graffiti. He received death threats in the mail and on the phone. People would drive by and throw animal parts at him whenever he was on the street. All of his regular businesses that he went to for food or services refused to see him. Nowhere else in town would either. People who he had once considered friends turned their backs on him. He couldn't go anywhere without being called a freak. Eventually, he was kicked out of his own apartment. Nowhere else would take him in, saying he'd slash up the others in their sleep or at least would attracted unwanted attention. All he had left to him now was his own abandoned hospital.

Three months after his greatest failure…Dr. Baldhead sat alone at his desk. He had been abandoned by everyone else in the world, dismissed as a psycho. He sat here often now…alone and silent in the room without any files left, with all awards destroyed by vandals, without anyone coming to him with so much as a papercut. The windows he once enjoyed looking outside of were covered with paint calling him a menace and a lunatic. Here he sat…where he had once been on top of the world, and now was under its foot.

The man stared out at the floor silently. He had been staring at the same spot for hours. He had come in at the crack of dawn, and now night was falling. Still he stared there. He hadn't once looked to the letters on his desk. Each one was a lawsuit. Most of Dr. Baldhead's clientele didn't have the money to sue him, and those that did had searched their bodies for weeks to find the slightest blemish worth suing over. They found none, so they sued him for emotional distress. They wanted far more money than he had ever asked of them when they came to him for help. The world had completely turned its back on him…branding him as a monster.

But Dr. Baldhead didn't see them nearly as vividly as Nancy Rui.

She haunted his dreams. She was in his vision day and night. He kept thinking he saw her around corners or lying in beds in his abandoned clinic. Her chest was violently torn open…like by an animal. And her innocent face, pale and stained with her own blood, looked to him as if to ask, "Why did you kill me? I trusted you with my life. Why did you let me down?"

All around him he heard the voices of the world…calling him a freak and a monster. They said he had been addicted to performing surgery on others. He loved their blood and their flesh. He loved seeing people carved open.

He had thought he was the best…and he failed. It wasn't some missed nick…it was a violent slash. He had cut her in the worst way. He had killed her, not the disease. But how? Why? He had so much control over himself. He was so focused while operating. He was in his natural element. How could his scalpel have gone that way?

Surrounded by accusing voices…surrounded by a world that called him guilty and monster…it was only a matter of time before he concluded something.

He _was_ a surgery freak. That's why he had done it. He had cut Nancy open on purpose. That's why he wanted so many surgeries. It wasn't to save her. It was so that he could play doctor with her flesh. And he wanted to see her blood. That was why he had cut her open. Everyone was right…he _was_ a monster. He was a killer. All this time he thought he had been saving lives, but all he had been doing was satisfying his sick fetish. He thought he had been so good and noble…but he was a madman. All of his beliefs in himself and his cause were bogus. He was a psychopath…a killer. That was the only way the world saw him now.

Dr. Bodkin… He was the first to jump on him, gloating about how he had called a spade a spade. He still remembered meeting with him…how he had thought he was so much better than him at the time. Now he had proven he was the better man. Dr. Bodkin…the man who was just like the rest of the corrupt medical establishment…had proven him to be more a monster. He had shown the world that he was nothing more than a surgery freak, and had ruined him completely.

And there he was…continuing to practice…continuing to ignore those who needed him…thinking he was the shining example of medical holiness. He had turned himself into a saint in the eyes of the world, when he cared nothing more for anyone else than they did. He might have been a monster, but Bodkin was not innocent. He was a killer too. He killed through negligence. He killed through apathy. He killed through heartlessness. And yet the world accepted him…hailed him as a crusader and a hero. All he had done was out of jealousy and spite…and yet they thought he was such a good man.

If Dr. Baldhead was evil…then so much more was Dr. Bodkin. If he was to suffer pain for his crimes, then Dr. Bodkin needed to suffer all the more. The more Dr. Baldhead thought of this…the more he believed it to be true. The memory of Nancy lessened in the light of having a new purpose. When he focused his anger away from himself and on others, she faded. That was it. That's what he had to do.

Dr. Baldhead's eyes finally looked off of the floor and to the front of his table…at the long carrying case that held his seven-foot scalpel.

His large mouth spread into a grin…as he finally started to look like the psycho people took him for.

* * *

_You did the right thing._

Dr. Bodkin kept telling himself that as he locked the door to his own office, turned, and began to walk down the hall. It was late. It had been a long day. Most of the hospital was empty now, save for the night orderlies and nurses. He tried to be calm and casual as he always was when he went home for the night. However…once again, the memory of Dr. Baldhead returned.

It hadn't been hard to finally stop him. He had connections with the janitor business that Dr. Baldhead hired. Two thousand world dollars was all it took to get one to go to his oversized scalpel and press a small adhesive device on the end. It was too small to notice in case you were looking, but it caused a vibration. That was all that was needed to mess up Dr. Baldhead's slice, and to shut the charlatan down for good. He had already prepared his speech for the press before the botch up had occurred.

However…an innocent person had died. And Dr. Baldhead…he was a good surgeon. No one could deny that…

_Stop it! If it hadn't have been that girl, it would have been someone else! You just sped along what he was going to do on his own eventually! He wasn't a good surgeon! He was a madman! You've saved countless lives! He would have ruined the entire practice and turned the field into a game! He had to be stopped by any means necessary! That's the law of medicine! Sometimes you have to chose who lives and who dies, and you chose the better one to die!_

Dr. Bodkin kept telling himself this…struggling to make himself believe it…as he passed the nurse. She said goodbye, but he didn't answer. He was too busy wrestling with himself mentally. It was only through mechanical repetition that he managed to reach the elevator door. As soon as it slid open, he impatiently went inside, turned around, and faced the front.

"Ground level."

The elevator beeped, and then began its descent. Dr. Bodkin sighed, clenching and unclenching his fists and still frowning at himself. He needed to get out of here. He needed to get home and…

"Emergency stop."

Abruptly, the elevator came to a halt. Dr. Bodkin's head raised, and he gazed out in confusion. Someone had just made the elevator engage its emergency stop…but it hadn't been him. He realized that another voice had just said that. Immediately, he turned around in the small space, looking behind him. He saw nothing, however. He had been lost in his own thoughts, but he would have noticed if someone else had been in the elevator when he entered. Yet someone else had said those two words…

_Drip…drip…_

Dr. Bodkin turned his head to the ground at this latest sound. On the ground, in two little drops, was some sort of clear liquid. A third soon dripped and joined it from the ceiling. Then…Dr. Bodkin realized it. He hadn't heard the voice from behind him…but above him. He slowly turned his eyes upward. As soon as he did…his legs turned to water. His lip trembled. His flesh turned white as he shrank back.

Dr. Baldhead, using his long, spindly limbs, had pushed against all four walls of the elevator and held his body against the ceiling. In one hand danced his seven-foot scalpel. His body was tight now. His face was no longer friendly…but now twisted and warped. From behind his glasses he looked hungrily at the doctor. His toothy mouth was open wide into a ravenous grin, and drool dripped from his lips to the ground. He was totally mad.

"The doctor…is in."

* * *

"The night watchman found Dr. Bodkin later that night. His head had been cut open, and his brain had been removed a piece at a time. Autopsy confirmed that it had been done in such a way as so the man was able to comprehend what was happening until the last piece was taken out." 

The younger guard turned a bit green. He turned his head back over to the metal door. Here, at the bottom of the Manchurian Superprison Complex, in the part where they put the utter psychopaths…the subhuman criminals…was the cell of Dr. Baldhead. Down here, it was more a dungeon than a prison. There were only dim lights here in single bulbs, the walls were made of heavy old stone, and all of the doors were riveted metal. In the very back of this place was Dr. Baldhead's personal room. His door was deadbolted three times. The only view to the outside world was a tiny barred window at head level. Inside…everything was black. Before the younger guard tried to look in to see who or what was there. The older stopped him…and told him the story.

The older guard sighed and crossed his arms. "Bodkin was the first. Dr. Baldhead went on to kill 23 men and 19 women, as well as unspecified numbers of animals. Most of them were doctors or rich patients. Each one was killed from a 'surgical' perspective. At first he made them die slow. He peeled the skin off of one while he was still alive. Another he started at the legs and cut them into pieces as he worked his way up. Another he carved open and removed their organs one by one before removing one that killed him. He got bored with that after a while. He started performing 'unnecessary' surgery. One guy he reconnected their stomach to their spinal cavity, letting his own acid dissolve his nervous system. Another one he cut off the hands and sutured the eyes, ears, and mouth shut, then watched him slowly die over the next few days."

"Good lord…" The younger guard remarked, cupping his hand to his mouth. He looked back to the doorway, and then out to the older guard. "Why don't they just kill the animal?"

The older guard shrugged. "I guess they want to study him. Find out what made him go off the deep end. They reasoned he was pretty sane before his life went sour. Combination of him losing that girl plus the world turning its back on him and branding him as a monster made him want to actually become the monster everyone saw him as. Some sort of mental self-preservation…although I think he's quite a case none the less. To tell the truth…no one wants to go near him. He's strong as an ox and agile as a fox. No one wants to risk dying like his victims did. Surprisingly enough, when they finally tracked him down and surrounded his place with about a hundred IPF guys, he gave up quietly. You know…" Here, the older guard paused a bit, looked around a little, and then leaned in closer to the younger man.

"You didn't hear this from me…but I hear some higher ups actually want him alive…want to one day use him to commit assassinations or something."

The younger guard quirked an eyebrow. "You're kidding."

"Swear to God."

The younger guard looked to the cell, and then back to his senior officer. He frowned for a moment, but then exhaled as he turned and began to walk back down the hallway.

"Man…sometimes I think our system is just so corrupt."

* * *

_To be continued..._

Next Chapter: Everywhere Man...


	4. Everywhere Man

**"Everywhere Man"**

* * *

"Hey! To Kliff Undersn! The Swiss Army!"

Everyone in the bar, without any prompting, immediately raised their glasses and toasted. When it came to Kliff Undersn, it didn't matter if you were a friend, a stranger, or an enemy nation. Everyone gave a cheer and a salute before downing their brew. Cheers and smiles followed, as well as some applause.

A rather short man, hardly four and a half feet tall, and more grizzled and scarred than a piece of forty-year old burnt steak, managed to force a smile on his face. He turned around and showed his infamous features to the crowd in the bar, and then managed to lift an old, gnarled, and yet muscle-ripped hand to them and waved. After giving a nod to a few more cheers, he turned away and back to the bar room door. He soon walked out of it, taking advantage of the old vintage doorknob to open it and walk out. He had to maneuver somewhat in order to get the rather large weapon across his back through it, but eventually he managed to do so.

As soon as he was out in the street and the door shut behind him, his smile turned into a sour frown.

"Stupid drunks… Three toasts a day is plenty."

If this had been any other world, any passerby probably would have regarded the short, squat man known as Kliff Undersn as a funny little person. With his gray hair turning white and his long beard down to his chest, combined with his short, gnarled little features…one might mistake him for one of the seven dwarves or even Santa Claus. Everything about him seemed compressed and squished. However, he still had all the muscle and more of a person of normal size, and so it seemed as if that had further been squeezed into his body, forming a very stocky little man. His strength was obvious. His muscles bulged under his light brown vest and pants, and the fact that he was hoisting a massive sword behind him that was nearly one and a half times the size of him made his strength more than apparent to all. Despite all of this, he was very light on his feet and agile too, even to the point of being superhuman. All of this would have made everyone think he was a powerful little mythical creature.

Yet this was not any other world. This was Earth…and this was Kliff Undersn.

There wasn't a bar on the planet where he wouldn't be toasted and have his drinks bought for him. There wasn't a convenient mart he would walk into that wouldn't give him a discount of at least fifty percent. There wasn't a child on the street that wouldn't marvel at him and salute him when they passed him by. He was a living legend in every sense of the word. He was an international hero. And he had resigned himself to the fact that there was nowhere left on Earth where he couldn't be treated as such every day of his life.

He hardly saw what it mattered some days. There were a lot of good people who were better heroes than him in the war. And frankly, he'd rather he had never been a hero in the first place. Because what had made him a hero was one of the worst things ever to befall mankind.

Kliff was six when he officially became involved in matters that concerned the Crusades. That was seventy years ago at this point. But thirty years before that, the Crusades had already begun. It had been the natural offshoot of man overindulging itself in creating better ways of killing itself, and playing God once too often.

It was even earlier than that when the discovery of the "magical" gene first arose. That's what started it all. The scientist who had discovered this gene wanted to issue in a new better utopia for Earth. Instead, he got a new eugenics war. Every country began to scour the genomes of its citizens, looking for ones who possessed these correct genes. Those that did were given incentives, benefits, and, most of all, pushing by their governments to breed with other people with these genes, and to have as many children as possible. While most people only had a small degree of empathy who bore the special mutation, some were able to do amazing feats. Some enhanced their strength. Some manipulated fire. Some could control inanimate objects. The exceptionally few were even stronger and better then that.

Whoever had this new power had sources of energy, strong intelligent soldiers, and fascinating powers in the rare few. Those rare ones were superior to all other weapons known to mankind. It was clear that whoever had the most of them would one day rule the world, once their strength was properly refined and exploited. It wasn't long before whoever wasn't already bred for proper genetics became forcibly government mandated to undergo transgene projects. At first this only happened in more military countries…but before long the more "civilized" ones learned they were losing out by taking the moral high road, and they started to do the same.

The most advanced ones entered special schools where they were bred for war. From day one, they were trained to use their abilities to the most, and to be cold, ruthless, and obedient. No open war broke out yet. They were still training the next generation of super soldiers. In the meantime, the world increased its technological capabilities, augmenting them with their new power source. Many advances were made…but most in the department of war. Everyone was building up for the next big conflict, one that would be fought with their specially bred soldiers.

What they didn't know, and that, to this day, no one truly knew…was that a group of scientists somewhere in the world had made countless new landmarks in magical technology and the world of biological research. They knew more than anyone else, and were constantly pushing the envelope of what was known. The culmination of their knowledge was used to create highly advanced, genetically perfect, magically unrivaled, quick growing, obedient ultra soldiers that made every other project in the works look like mere mice against a man.

It was revealed in the year 2071. That was when the first Gear showed up.

"Gear" was a mysterious term. No one was really sure why they were called it. The only connection was that a gear is a piece of machinery that is mass produced. The same was with these things. Creatures might not have been an appropriate term.

The first one that showed up bore the name Gear 0001. That was the only time in history in which he had that moniker. Soon…he'd be known, remembered, and eternally feared by another name… He touched down in the middle of London on November 5, 2071, at about 1:53 A.M. By 2:40 A.M., there wasn't a man, woman, or child left alive in the entire city proper. No one knew exactly how quickly he had managed to level the city…because he had left no survivors. Only a few wireless transmissions of some horrible giant in white and blue armor, thrashing a long tail behind him, got through to the outside world. At any rate, by the next day, a quarter of Britain's military was on the scene. None of them were ever seen again.

On the third day, a group of Irish terrorists took credit for the attack, claiming that this was just a demonstration of the power that they now possessed. They called the weapon they had used a "Gear". They claimed they had more, and they'd use them unless Northern Ireland disbanded as a country immediately, all of its land reverting to the rest of Ireland.

However…everyone was shocked when, on day four, two cities that had supposedly held terrorist cells in Ireland were wiped off the face of the Earth. But it wasn't bombs that had done it…it was Gears. London demonstrated that it had the same power.

After that…the "world turned upside down". Israelites and Palestinians were soon unloading Gears on one another. Terrorists from the Middle East dropped Gears onto the United States, only to have hundreds of their villages destroyed the next day by Gears of their own. Everyone was soon attacking everyone else…but all employed the same weapons of choice. The super soldiers in training were suddenly forgotten. Everyone was using Gears. And they took war to a whole new level. No one used atomic bombs before now because of the cast off radiation turning around to poison you. Yet Gears provided all the widespread destruction and death without that annoying facet. No one hesitated to use them. And the more attacks were made with them…the more they were counterattacked by even more Gears. Almost every country soon had them.

Kliff had long wondered if this was because the records were shady at this time…but no one to this very day knew where the first Gear had come from, or how suddenly every nation managed to get them. He even wondered if anyone really knew. People tended to think only of killing the other guy before they killed you in times of war. They sure didn't stop to think of how their own governments suddenly had them, or what strange twist of fate was making them use them against one another.

Most Gears looked human or humanoid. Usually they had some distinct feature that separated them from the rest of humanity. All of them had a symbol somewhere on their bodies that showed they were not human. Some had ashy skin. Some had pointed ears. Some had wings. Some had fins. Some were rather large and monstrous. Some looked like children. They were easy to use. Each country had one or more super-powerful Gears they designated as "Command Gears". These ones controlled all of the weaker ones. They themselves did whatever the country's leader wanted them to do. They were completely obedient. When having no commands, they simply stood still and became completely docile. You could walk right up to one and give it a wedgie and dump strawberry ice cream on its face, and even if it had killed a million people without batting an eye before it wouldn't so much as look at you darkly. Kids tended to look up to them, saluting the best Gears in their country. However, for the most part, they were treated as robots…simply tools to be used.

If just one country had used Gears, the fighting would have been over in a month. But since everyone suddenly had them, no country was easy to disable anymore. Even when all that was left of their country was ash and bunkers, the Gears would keep fighting to the death. The world was ravaged. Most of its cities were wiped out. Even when all that remained was wasteland, opposing Gears continued to duke it out over the soil. Earth was becoming a battlefield for these demigods, and still no one stopped. When the ground turned black, the cities were rubble, and the sky was filled with smoke day in and day out…they kept on fighting. No one would end it. Everyone was afraid that calling off their Gears would leave them victim to everyone else, and so it just got worse.

Then, in the year 2074…one of the biggest turning points in the history of mankind occurred.

One nation finally "won" a war. Ireland's Gear 0001 took out the Command Gear of Great Britain. The rest of their Gears immediately became as harmful as sedated cattle. Great Britain had no choice but to surrender. The rest of its armies had long since been destroyed. Yet the Irish terrorists weren't satisfied with simply taking back Northern Ireland. Now they wanted more. In no time at all, they invaded the country with their Gears at their sides, looking to feast on whatever was left.

Most of England was a wreck now. All the humans found were Gears standing still, waiting for orders that would never come. They didn't react in the least to their former enemies. The leader of the terrorists, some guy named Crichton, with Gear 0001 at his side, looked about and saw the Gears that were standing around. Seeing that they could conceivably be a threat in the future, he ordered his men to go and start killing them. None of them tried to defend themselves. They stood there innocently as pistols were pointed at their heads and fired. After that was done, their bodies were incinerated.

At that point, some of the dirtier people in the group, ones that had been eager for getting some spoils of war and retribution on their foes, were growing rowdy. They decided to have some fun with the Gears. They stopped shooting them in the head, and instead cut them apart with machine gun fire. Or they'd go up behind them and slit their throats. Some of them made jokes while they were at it. They laughed in their faces. They spit on them, tore their clothing, slapped them…even did cruder things to them than that.

Kliff had no idea what exactly had gone on after that, but he had a good idea. Until now, the world had assumed the Gears were mindless slaves. However…at least one of them could think.

Gear 0001 had to be seeing this. He had to see others that he recognized as kindred being slain. They had once been enemies, but now the fighting was over. Now he was seeing them as his own. And now…he saw what would one day become of them...of him. The fighting was over, and now the weapons of war were being "dismantled". He too was a weapon of war, as were all the others under his command. One day, they'd meet the same fate. When all the fighting was done, they'd be the butt of jokes from weak men as they were systematically destroyed.

Somehow, Gear 0001 had to have developed a sense of self…of wanting to live. Perhaps he had seen the humans. Perhaps he wanted to live as they did. He wanted to have the chance of pursuing happiness and love and contentment. Yet at that moment, he realized what he was in the eyes of his master…a tool. A mindless, soulless puppet. The only purpose he had was to serve them and die. That's what all of their purposes were. They had created them, made them to fight their bloody wars for them, made them do all the dirty work…and now they wouldn't even dignify them by giving them freedom. They'd simply destroy them as if they meant nothing.

Gear 0001 did something next that no one could ever figure out…he _acted_.

In a flash, he turned on Crichton and snapped his neck. His two bodyguards fell next. He was working on four and five when those around saw Gear 0001 and what he was doing. Immediately, out of instinct, they turned away from their latest Gear slated for destruction and opened fire on him. They forgot that Gear 0001 had been hit by a thermonuclear warhead at one time and had survived. The bullets did nothing other than make him turn his head to those shooting at him…and the Gear beyond. Though Gear 0001 had never commanded this troop before, he still called out to it and told him to kill his attackers.

To everyone's shock…the Gear obeyed.

Soon, Gears from both Great Britain and Ireland united. They turned on the army that they had once served and finished it in two minutes. All of them immediately fell under Gear 0001's directives, and Gear 0001 was now no longer subservient to anyone. No one might have known this had happened, or anything in great detail, had they not spared one person. Gear 0001 told him to go back and tell the world what he had done. He told him to tell them that the Gears would no longer die for any inferior human anymore. He told them that he himself would be the justice that his people needed.

Hence, from that day forward, Gear 0001 was no more.

Justice was born.

Within less than 24 hours, every military that had used Gears was destroyed. Each one of them completely and unilaterally went under the command of Justice. And Justice wished for them to kill all remaining humans and make the world their own. They tapped into remaining defense systems and ordered them to attack other countries (although they didn't use nukes…for they too wanted the Earth). They systematically went out to smaller countries and decimated their militaries. They went to each and every documented cell with super soldiers being trained and killed them all. Once they had neutralized all defenses, they began to destroy every city that was left. What few remnants of humanity that remained hid in terror and waited for the end. Nothing was left to stop the Gears from carrying out the genocide.

That was…until _they_ showed up.

There were only two hundred of them at first. Until this day, they had been regarded as religious nuts and even a harmless cult. Yet in humanity's darkest hour, they alone rose to stem the tide.

There was one super soldier cell left. It was not affiliated with any government, however. Rather, a Christian monastic group had taken in children with gifted abilities, and had taught them through prayer, discipline, and meditation to focus and develop them. These children were trained hard, but unlike those in the military retained their souls and their freedom of choice. They willingly accepted this style of life so that they could one day grow up to be safeguards of justice and peace in the world of chaos. It was an idealistic, almost fairy-tale vision…but no one was laughing at it now when they stood up to try and save a metropolitan district in Budapest from annihilation. They were the only hope left.

The fight lasted hours. One low level Gear against two hundred youths trained in combat and magical ability. Had Justice not dismissed them…thought they'd die as easily as every other group of humans who had ever risen against an active Gear…he might have sent another unit and wiped out the last hope that day. Forty of them died…but in the end, the unbelievable happened. A group of humans had managed to take out an active Gear for the first time in history.

Justice soon learned of this…and was rightly unnerved. Never before had any humans managed to defeat a Gear. Because of that, no one was sure how they moved or what attacks they implemented. He had only spared the one soldier before because he cowered away and hadn't seen them work. Now they knew what to expect from them and had an idea of their attack capabilities. Next time…they might be more prepared. He himself went with five other Gears and razed Budapest to the ground. They even went so far as to upheave the sewers. But by the time they got there, it was too late. This brotherhood, calling themselves "the Sacred Order of Holy Knights", had fled to plan their next move.

The Crusades were on.

For decades, humanity simply struggled to survive. Everyone soon rallied under these knights, seeing them as their only hope. Many joined up with them, but unfortunately their magical ability made them poor fighters. Usually, they only served to distract Gears trying to hunt them down while the others fled. The knights moved everywhere, saving cities and communities when they could, spiriting away others into underground shelters, providing food and care whenever possible, and, most of all, fighting the Gears. That latter part was terrible. At least a dozen of them died every time they fought a low level one. At one point their ranks swelled to two thousand and then became half of that when a thousand died simply injuring one of the mid-level Gears enough to disable her temporarily.

Yet the knights were clever. They knew they couldn't fight as they were now. So they formed think tanks and scientist cells too, hiding them away in old bomb shelters. They had them continue to work and develop new technology. They practiced sharpening their skills every day, becoming powerful and strong enough to tangle with more powerful Gears. It was a slow, arduous process…and it took years of dead villages and slaughtered knights. Thirty years after the beginning of the Crusades, over 140,000 knights were dead and only ten Gears. But slowly and surely…they grew better.

It was around this time when Kliff entered the story himself. The Crusades were in full swing when he was born. He lived in a small, isolated hamlet in Switzerland, way up in the mountain region. He was a small boy, wiry and thin, and hardly much to look at. Even then, he wanted to join up with the Holy Knights. Here, he was free to indulge in delusions of grandeur and valor. The Gears had ignored this country for the most part. They were trying to hunt down the knights a few hundred miles to the south. Some people in that country even entertained the notion that the Gears would consider them neutral as all other countries had for decades.

They didn't understand that Justice wanted all humans dead. He wouldn't even let them live as slaves. And he thought nothing of dispatching three to take out the country while he hunted his prey. Kliff had been waving a wooden sword out under a tree while his mother was inside, washing the dishes from lunch. His father was out in the field, hoeing at weeds. Kliff turned his head and looked through the front door once. While drying a dish, his mother leaned out the door and gave him a smile. It was the last moment he ever saw her alive.

A second later, and his entire house…always seeming so concrete and stable and absolute in his six years of life…was scattered like dead leaves to the wind. The force of the blast ripped him backward and sent him tumbling. When he stopped rolling, he looked up, and saw his father getting up from being knocked over. He saw the flaming ruin that his house had become. He moved to go in, desperate to see if his wife lived. An instant later…and he too was blown into pieces.

Kliff remembered the screaming and the flames. He saw the sky turn black from smoke as the village was turned to rubble. Anyone who ran for it was shot in the back by some energy weapon. He stared on and saw the remains of his father…the ruins of his house…knowing his mother was dead inside…how a Gear had taken everything away from him in the span of less than five seconds.

Eventually, the Gear saw him. He had almost forgotten about it, so frozen in horror was he. Yet when it swooped around, fell out of the sky, and landed in front of him…he forgot about his house and family as he looked up and stared death in the face. The Gear felt no pity for him…only saw him as another target. It promptly deployed some blade from its gauntlet, and moved to slice Kliff's head off. The boy was frozen, unable to move or run…just wait for the end.

That was when _he_ intervened. That was the first time he had ever seen a true hero of the Crusades.

He moved like a blur. Kliff only saw the world spin in front of him. He was stunned, and snapped back, fear making him retreat again. Then…he saw him. Body a mass of muscle…hair long and spiked…that red headband across his head…and laying into the Gear. Kliff was young and inexperienced, but he was old enough to know that it was supposed to take armies of knights to take on a Gear. What he was seeing was impossible. This man was fighting the Gear alone…and _winning._ Each one of his punches shook the air and the ground, and the Gear, a creature that should have shrugged off a bomb, was actually feeling it. He was snapping around, moving back and away from the boy.

Yet once he was far enough away, the new man attacked even more strongly then before. This time he broke bones, trying to incapacitate the thing. It fought back…but despite its speed the man was stronger and faster. He dodged every blow and answered with a harder one. At last…he seized the thing by the throat and punched its chest in so hard that it compressed, crushing its heart. The thing went limp and died. Kliff had seen something that only a handful of men or women on Earth had witnessed up until then…the death of a Gear. He was trapped in awe.

The man came back over to him and bent down. He was draped in shadow, and his face was hard as stone and cold as ice. Yet his eyes bore a fierce passion, and he smiled kindly to him. He said his name was Frederick and asked the boy's. Kliff couldn't answer. By now, he was practically catatonic from what had happened. He had watched his family be destroyed, his house burned, had nearly died, and then saw a humanoid beaten to death in front of him. Frederick seemed to realize this. So instead, he took the boy up and hoisted him on his back. Then he began to carry him away from town.

It took two days of traveling to get to a Holy Knight refugee camp. Kliff snapped out of it toward the first evening…when he suddenly broke down into tears. Having no one else, he put his head on Frederick's lap and sobbed. The man let him cry for hours, until he had worn himself out by tears. After that, he steadied the boy and put a blanket around him. Once he was comfortable, Frederick told him that he knew he was having a hard time, but for now on he would have to be strong. Right now, he was sure he felt like his life was over, and that he was lost and confused. But he'd find his way again some day. And when he did, he had to meet it with strength and confidence…so that one day he could save another person just as he had been saved that day. This wasn't a suggestion for a life career or some way of cheering a child up. This was an order. Frederick essentially told him that his mission in life now was to save others. And for some reason…Kliff's sadness vanished then. For some reason, he felt as if God had just told him what his purpose in life was.

He talked more the next day, and Frederick turned out to be friendly and kind. Eventually, they made it to the camp, and Kliff was dropped off. Frederick waved goodbye, never telling anyone what he had done. Kliff watched him until the last, burning his face into his memory. That same night, he told the knights he wanted to join.

He was far too young then, and they flatly refused him. Yet that didn't stop Kliff. He knew what he had to do with his life now. He had seen a man beat a Gear alone. He was determined not to rest until he could do the same. Every day for the next ten years, Kliff trained himself as hard as he could. He ran. He swam. He lifted weights. He hurdled. He stretched. He studied. He was just a weak six-year-old when he started…but the others at the refugee orphanage were in awe of him, for he had the eyes of an adult. He was a boy who knew exactly what he would be when he filled out the form of a man. It took a few months, but soon Kliff's training began to show results. He became stronger than boys almost half of his age. He was the fastest in the orphanage. Most of all…he knew more about combat skills and swordfighting than half of the knights in the Sacred Order.

But he wasn't satisfied. He kept going. He worked every day until he collapsed from exhaustion and his muscles were afire. He only grew stronger as a result. By the time he was twelve, he was the strongest, fastest man in town. He was also the best fighter. He eventually found out that he was a class D magic, and as such had to be enhancing his strength and power somewhat. Yet his training still made a large portion of it…and it didn't come without price. Kliff had tried to develop himself too early in life. The result stunted his growth, making him the dwarvish looking person he was now.

He didn't care. He kept going. He was determined to be strong enough to fight a Gear on his own. His muscles turned into rocks. His fists turned into steel. His reflexes were faster than the crack of a whip. He became the best fighter in the country…then the continent. After ten long years, the rippling, toned, mighty Kliff Undersn returned to the Sacred Order of Holy Knights and requested membership again. By that time…he was, without a doubt, the strongest and fastest of them all. This time, they let him in hands down.

Just a week later, a Gear struck Switzerland again. It was only a low level one, but it was trying to clean up whatever towns were still standing after the last raid. Kliff was supposed to be one of a hundred dispatched to take it down. Coldly, without fear or doubt, he told them all that he'd take care of it.

Naturally, they thought he was a hotshot and that he'd get himself killed. They weren't going to listen to him, especially since he was just a raw recruit. But Kliff didn't give them a choice. He ran off to take the Gear out himself, and he was too fast to be stopped by them now. He easily reached the next town in the line of destruction a good five minutes before they could be there. Throwing his weapon aside, he told the Gear to come get him.

Two minutes later, and Kliff was half dead while the Gear wasn't even bruised. Mighty as he was, he wasn't as strong as Frederick had been, and he was still inferior to a Gear. Yet his determination wouldn't let him die now. He refused to give up. He charged it again, and the creature easily flung him aside into a nearby antique shop. That was the biggest mistake the Gear had made.

Shortly after landing in a pile of antiques…Kliff's hand found its way around something metal. He looked…and saw that a massive sword, twice his size, was in his hand. It was an old blade…powerful and made by expert swordsmiths. It had been collecting dust for years in this place, no one able to afford its priceless cost. He looked just long enough to see a tag that said that the owner had called it "Dragonslayer". Needless to say, he clasped it. As the Gear closed in for the kill…he was most surprised to see Kliff lunge out for him instead…and draw blood from a slash across his chest. Wielding the massive sword as if it was made of balsa wood, Kliff challenged him again.

The fight took ten minutes, and Kliff used everything he had. Luckily, the massive blade acted as a shield as much as a weapon. It was strong and forged well, so it was impervious to the attacks of the Gear when they couldn't focus. The others arrived…but stopped when they saw Kliff battling it out alone. Until now, no single knight had ever even been able to stand his or her ground against a Gear. Even if he was going to die, they saw something amazing.

Kliff pushed himself to the limit three times over, but refused to stop. He'd fulfill his promise to Frederick if it killed him. At long last, one of the energy blasts the Gear fired ricocheted off of Dragonslayer and struck against its forehead. It didn't hurt it…but it blinded it and made him leave his guard open. With everything he had left, Kliff dove forward and sliced him in two before passing out.

Two days later, when Kliff woke up and was still sore from his injuries, he saw he was promoted to captain and had a thousand knights under his command. The whole region was hailing him as a hero. The other Gears had seen how one of the knights had actually beaten a Gear one-on-one…and they were so taken aback by this that they actually fled the continent to rethink their strategy. Kliff at once began to think why they hadn't done the same when Frederick had struck…but he hardly had time to think about that now. Now, the entire European division was looking to him to take them to victory. By the time he was eighteen, he had been made leader of the entire Sacred Order of Holy Knights.

After that, things began to change. Kliff never believed he was personally responsible, however. He did start practicing techniques that the Sacred Order had adopted to sharpen his magical abilities while continuing to grill himself in terms of physical training. Others took up his same regimen, this time boosting their physical capabilities. In addition, technology continued to refine itself, and more advanced magics continued to hone their skills.

When Justice struck back, he sent a mid-level Gear in, hoping to lure Kliff into single combat again and this time annihilate him. Yet Kliff wasn't that stupid. He, in turn, drew the Gear out to a German city ruin. He positioned the highest level magics they possessed at secret parts in the city, and then set himself up as bait. The Gear came for him, and Kliff led it on a wild chase throughout the ruins of the city. Again and again, he led it by secret outposts where the Gear was blasted by weapons and magic. No one hit did too much damage, but as Kliff led it on it had to expend more and more of its power to weather the assault. As Kliff and the Gear tired, he lured it into one of the old subway tunnels. There, eight powerful Holy Knights popped out and hit it at once. They didn't kill the thing, but they stunned it. Seeing what they had done, the Gear moved to attack them instead…which was all the delay Kliff needed to sneak overhead and bring Dragonslayer down, cleaving it in two. The first mid-level Gear had been destroyed, and it hadn't cost a single human life. Kliff was nearly venerated.

The war intensified. Justice began to crack down more on the knights, but Kliff made himself strong enough to withstand it. He continued to increase in power until he could dispatch low level Gears reliably alone. He couldn't beat mid-level ones yet, but he could hold back two of them long enough for the rest of the knights to counterattack or escape. He became the single greatest asset to the human's side of the war. For ten years, Justice shifted his full attention to destroying the Sacred Order of Holy Knights. Yet not only did he fail to destroy them, he was growing sloppier and less effective in his strikes, while the knights continued to grow in power. They implemented new weapons and strategies, and their constant fighting with the Gears allowed what cities of humanity were left to recover and stabilize. When Kliff was 28, five different advanced Holy Knights proved themselves capable of doing the same that Kliff did…dispatching low level Gears on their own. Kliff paired with the strongest one and took out a mid-level Gear.

Now the Gears were forced to rethink their strategy. For the first time since the war began, they had to worry about being on human "turf". Using the ruins and countryside, the Holy Knights in Europe were making successful strike after successful strike. This made Justice pause and consider retreating…

It was here, when Justice himself was holed up in Rome, that Kliff, having moved secretly and quickly, made his way into town and found himself face-to-face and alone with him. Kliff realized it was likely stupidity, but he thought he'd never get another chance…and challenged Justice to a duel.

Within thirty seconds, Kliff was fighting for his life. Justice was ridiculously powerful, far above and beyond any other Gear he ever fought. It was only because he knew the terrain that he was able to hide from him long enough to escape with his life. Despite his failure, the fight had been the last push that Justice needed to realize that fighting here wasn't safe. He and the rest of the Gears withdrew from the continent. Europe became the first continent to be freed from Gear control.

Kliff took the opportunity to strengthen the defenses of the surviving nations. He had magical weapons and shields placed in almost every town possible, each with enough power to weather almost all Gear attacks. He organized more militias and trained the Holy Knights to be better than before. A new organization sprung up now, the Post-War Administration Bureau, and it began to organize what shreds of government were left in order to make some sort of cohesive structure. In the quieter parts of Europe, life even seemed to resume.

Unfortunately, the Gears had been underestimated. Justice wasn't just relying on the power of his own soldiers. He developed magical weapons of his own…and soon used them to decimate entire countries without ever presenting a single Gear target. Kliff was forced on the offensive far sooner than he wanted, but somehow he vowed to make do. He struck into areas of Asia, going after their weapons and power centers, and through the blood of many good men and women he managed to keep what was left of humanity safe.

It was here while he was leading a campaign in Russia that his unit came to a ruined village. It had been destroyed for some time, but it would provide shelter in the ruins. Kliff remembered going into one partially complete building himself, unrolling his sleeping bag, balancing his sword against the wall, and then leaning back and taking a nap.

His fine tuned senses awoke him not long after when he heard a noise. He cracked his eyes…and saw a small, thin, pale, black-haired boy dressed in rags admiring his sword. He leaned up, and when he did the boy immediately saw him and shrank into a corner. He was practically feral now, and had learned to distrust all strangers. It took a lot of coaxing, but eventually Kliff managed to get him out and offered him some food. Slowly but surely, he gained the boy's trust until he sat next to him.

The boy followed him for two years, saying nothing but always being at his side even in the worst war zones, before he managed to talk. He said his name was Ozzie. A year before Kliff had arrived, his entire town had been destroyed. He was the only survivor. He had lived in the ruins ever since. Kliff saw this…and again thought of what Frederick had told him. With that in mind, he took the boy under his wing. He became Ozzie's adoptive father.

For years, he traveled along with him everywhere. They laughed and played in their spare time, and when Ozzie got old enough he started showing him how to use a sword and fight. It was a good ten years…some of the best of Kliff's life. He hadn't had a family in a long time. Neither of them had. The bond they formed between each other was something they both needed, even as tough as Kliff was. The leader of the knights had never had anyone specifically to fight for before, but now that he did he realized he was tougher than ever. He even managed to take out one of the high-level Gears. He ran into Justice again, and this time both of them were still going strong when reinforcements arrived, forcing them to break off. Kliff believed Ozzie gave him that power.

It didn't last much longer than that, however. Ozzie had grown up with the knights. He wanted to fight. But the fact of the matter was that he wasn't capable. He was always naturally weak and weakly constituted. Try as he could, he couldn't keep up with Kliff's training regimen. He couldn't even build up enough stamina to make it through a workout. It started off as feelings of inadequacy…but it grew worse and worse. Once Ozzie was 18 years old, he said he had to leave. He said he couldn't come back until he was able to fight. Kliff was sad to see him go…but he let him. He knew that he was a man now, and that he had to make his own choices. He hadn't seen him since.

The fighting wore on. Humanity eventually retook Asia as well, though beyond that they were stonewalled. The Sacred Order put their magic to a new use when they found out how to seal away and bind more powerful Gears without having to destroy them. Of course, warriors like Kliff were still needed to keep them busy long enough to perform such rites. Around this time, the floating nation of Zepp was established as a true country, which was essentially an impregnable flying fortress. More people began to settle down and some of the older countries went up again.

When Kliff was 56, Justice reorganized in more strategic strikes and tried to retake Europe. He was getting smarter. He realized that while the humans could replenish their numbers, he could not. At least…that was what Kliff had thought. It seemed their designers must have at least been smart enough to make them infertile. Now he was acting more conservatively but still making hard strikes. Kliff had been fighting the war for over forty years and was getting tired, but he forced himself to keep going. His forces were stretched to the limit, and he called for new volunteers. The biggest call yet.

It was in his own branch that he saw him again.

To this day, he wasn't sure why he called himself by a new name, yet the bounty hunter known only as "Sol Badguy" waltzed into his recruiting office with a casual air, and requested to sign up. Kliff took one look at him…and remembered. The dark look. The passionate eyes. The spiked hair swept over his head. It was impossible. The man had to be near eighty by now. This one hadn't aged a day. It was like he had walked out from his memory and taken flesh form.

It was Frederick.

The man said nothing to him at first. He just looked over to Kliff…focused on him a moment…and grinned. That moment was all Kliff needed to remove his doubt. It was him. He didn't know how he hadn't aged, or why he had reappeared now…but it was him. From that day on, he acted like he had just met Kliff. He obeyed his orders, addressed him as sir…the whole bit. And Kliff subconsciously found himself treating him like just another recruit. And yet, after that, somehow…both of them knew who the other was. They just never brought it up.

Sol was a god on the battlefield. It wasn't just his tremendous strength. He revealed that he had total mastery of flame magic, and used it frequently. He dispatched five Gears _solo_ in one conflict. His speed and power were totally unmatched by both Gear and human. He was an army into and of himself. In no time at all, he was practically idolized by the locals. The world hailed him as a hero. It was only because he was still subservient to Kliff that he wasn't made the new leader and praised all over the Earth.

With Sol at his side, Kliff led a counter-invasion of North America, catching the Gears by surprise by not trying to attack Africa. Half of the Gear deaths were due to Sol Badguy, and countless refugees still hiding on the continent were rescued by him. Kliff himself went up against Justice numerous times when he turned to address the conflict, yet again he could not prevail against him. In the end, North America was liberated, the Gears were weakened, and Sol was worshipped by the young warriors of the world.

Sol was granted the highest rank in the Sacred Order of Holy Knights. However, what happened next was an even greater honor. The Sacred Order had two weapons of matchless power in their possession. No one knew where they had come from, but the strength they possessed dramatically enhanced both the body and spirit of whoever bore them. They gave him one…the Fireseal, or Fuuenken. Even Kliff had never received such a prize before, but he knew it wasn't for him. Only one with great magical power could make full use of it, and he was more a fighter than a magician. Besides, to him…Sol Badguy was the one person who deserved it more than anyone. It was there that Gear and human alike called these two titans by new titles. Kliff was "the Swiss Army". Sol was "the Corrupted Flame".

Fifteen more years of war went by…but the Gears were ebbing. Each day that went by, victory looked a little less like a dream and more like a reality. At first, only the cocky and foolish believed that victory was inevitable. Yet more soon began to subscribe to that, and even Kliff himself began to believe it. Despite constant strikes by Gears, much of Europe was now resettled and acting like a real series of countries. North America and Asia were following. Peace was slowly returning.

It was here that Kliff began to grow disenchanted.

He started noticing things. Some knights would walk into taverns and ask for free drinks for all the hard work they had done. Others went to higher priced hotels and said that they'd hate to not be well rested enough to fight off the next Gear that attacked the town if they didn't get a free room. Some were a bit rougher and intimidating to get information on Gears, and others ignored towns in need in favor of satisfying their own hungers and thirsts first. In some smaller towns, he even took notice of extortion through physical violence. The Holy Knights were starting to get very unholy. Before, when everyone was fighting for their lives, no one had time for this sort of foolishness. But now that they were winning and earned more peace and security…those in power were reverting to base human desires.

Kliff proceeded to punish and throw out any offenders he saw, barring them from every joining the Sacred Order again. Yet he couldn't be everywhere. And the Sacred Order wasn't aloof from society. It depended on the new governments to be able to act, move, respond, and stay supplied effectively. Once that hadn't been the case, but now the order was too big to act without it. And he noticed that some of the order's connections with new governments seemed to live the high life sometimes…and that some money was passed under the table. The breaking point came when Kliff tried to remove a knight who had gotten drunk on watch. The next day, twenty different officers came in and asked him to reconsider. The knight in question had been the son of Russia's premier. One officer even went so far as to saying that removing him would lead to a lessening of Russian support. Kliff refused to back down. For the next six months, none of the supplies that Russia was supposed to send to hungry, cold, warring troops struggling to defend the border made it through.

Kliff was getting old. Much of southern Europe was still no man's land. The corruption within the Sacred Order was growing. He didn't have the strength to take care of all of this himself. He finally turned to Sol and told him of his problems, that he was getting too old to finish this job. He realized now he was asking him if he had done enough to fulfill Frederick's statement over sixty years ago. Luckily, Sol understood. He hadn't said anything at the time, but later he found out that Sol was getting sick of the corruption far faster than Kliff… From that day on, Kliff looked for a replacement.

Perhaps it was fate the next day that as he was walking out in camp…he ran right into Ky Kiske.

He was a handsome and ruddy youth. He was only ten years old at the time, but he was strong and full of passion and zeal. Before he even reached him, Kliff looked down at him and saw the same spark he had once seen in himself years ago when he joined the order. Like him…this boy was fresh and thirsty for justice and peace. He could see him filled with ideals and the true spirit of what the Crusades had been about when they first began…making a safe world.

Bold yet reverent, Ky ran up to Kliff, gave him a respectful bow that put the most disciplined soldiers to shame, addressed him as sir, introduced himself, and said he wanted to join the Holy Knights.

Something in Kliff wanted to recruit him on the spot. The youth had so much energy and vibrancy that he liked the kid as soon as he saw him. And yet…he couldn't. He later found out that the kid had been through hardship. He had been orphaned recently after an attack on his own family. Yet he still didn't think he was strong enough yet. Not just in the physical and mental department…but in commitment. He looked so fresh and new and untainted by the world. He didn't want to see him become a corrupt bully like the rest of the younger knights were becoming. He told him to come back in five years, and he'd see about it.

Ky didn't complain. He didn't protest. He gave a straight bow again, said, "yes sir", and then turned to vanish for the next five years.

Kliff almost forgot him when he was passing through France five years later. That was when Ky again ran up to him. Kliff remembered him when he saw him…but was amazed. The boy had grown into a powerful young man. He was perfect in form, like an image of King David of old. The youthful spark that showed his desire for good had not dimmed in the slightest. It had grown brighter. His eyes were still focused and full of passion. He walked up to Kliff, bowed again, and said he was more ready than ever to devote his life to the cause of righteousness. This time, Kliff let him in without a second's hesitation.

Not in almost a hundred years was there a man like Ky Kiske. He spent day and night studying, practicing, and meditating, increasing his power dramatically and making him that much deadlier of an enemy. He was chaste, chivalrous, and kind to all those in need. No one could match him with a blade, and his magical strength was without peer. Unlike Sol, Ky had mastered the ability of lightning…a magic considered so impossible to control that only Gears could do it. When he went into his first battle, he struck down his first Gear within less than a minute. Many more soon followed, and with him and Sol together half of Africa was soon retaken. His skill was matched only by his brilliance in battle. Though Kliff had far more experience, Ky soon outdid him in outthinking the Gears at every turn.

Best of all, Ky had absolutely no tolerance for corruption. The first time he saw someone extorting money, Kliff was with him. It was a good thing, for Kliff had to stop Ky from instinctively running the man through. Though Ky protested that "foul men such as he deserve no pity", he respected Kliff and the order's policies, and merely disbanded him. As Kliff saw him soon actively work to root out corruption in his spare time, he slowly realized he had found his replacement.

In the year 2175, as humanity was pushing for its final battle with the Gears, Kliff Undersn stepped down and passed the reins on to Ky Kiske. The man was only sixteen at the time, but he took command readily and respectfully saluted Kliff. He was soon joined by a thousand other knights who had come to see him off. Old guns were fired off in salute, and he was released with a cheer and a song of praise written specifically for him. Kliff turned, walked away, and didn't look back.

A lot had happened since then. Apparently, things had turned very chaotic for Sol and Ky not long after Kliff broke off. Yet in the end, he supposed that he made the right choice. Ky let a multi-lateral strike against all remaining Gear power centers only three months after Kliff left. At the end of this, he declared internationally that Justice had been sealed away. All remaining Gears had become docile and inactive again. The war was finally over.

Yet even then…lots of things happened that Kliff wasn't sure about. Somehow he didn't think this world was much better off than it had been before the Gears…

With a sigh, Kliff tried to get this off his brain as he came up to the door of his home. He was too tired to be remembering all of that nowadays. Everything was getting harder now. He realized that as much as he trained, he must have broken a lot too. He didn't have too much longer left…

His "home" was actually a one room shack in a quiet place in Switzerland that he rented off of his pension. He didn't want anything else more high class or profile. He nearly had to beat off his fans with a stick as it was now. Why didn't they bother Ky more? The kid had only run the show for three months, but he did something that Kliff didn't do in sixty years… With this in mind, he sighed as he got his key out, unlocked the door, and stepped inside.

The truth was that Kliff had hoped it wouldn't have ended this way. He was just afraid he would have spent the last years of his life dealing with bureaucratic nonsense. He had spent almost all of his life fighting. He couldn't take the life of a civilian. He wanted to go out battling to the last. He had fought with Justice sixteen separate times…and he wished that the last time had been the final one. It didn't matter to him which one died now. He just wanted to go out with a bang.

Kliff shut the door. His dark room had both the kitchen and bathroom inside it, the latter separated by a small partrition. The rest of it was his lounge and living room, which was really just a comfy chair, a table, and a television he watched possibly once a year. It was the classiest setting he had ever had…and yet he'd trade it for a military tent any day of the week.

Frowning, Kliff turned to the doorway. A tube had been run in that deposited mail directly in your home. Every house had one now. On a small table right next to the doorway, a few letters sat. Sighing, he went to them and starting picking through. Bill. Fan letter. Another fan letter. Junk mail. _God…couldn't we have least made a world without junk mail?_ Another bill. Letter.

This last letter made Kliff furrow his brow. It wasn't handwritten like normal fan mail. It was printed out on the envelope, like it was special stationary or something. This intrigued him a bit. He turned it over, broke the seal, pulled out a small, white, unmarked card that was inside, and held it in front of him. He opened it up and read the text.

His eyes widened.

A second later, and Kliff was hoisting Dragonslayer on his back again as he went back out the door and headed for IPF headquarters as fast as possible.

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: The Eternal Boy Scout...

This chapter was mostly the way to familiarize everyone with the world of Guilty Gear rather than focus a lot on Kliff, but since he was a major player in it I thought this was best. I know the end of the war was somewhat glazed over. That will be covered in more detail in the next chapter.

I know that each of the characters in Guilty Gear has a connotation with rock music in their names. I'm not as well versed in rock music as the people who made the game, so not all of the original characters I put in (Dr. Bodkin, Crichton, etc.) have names tied into rock. I have tried to do some, such as with the boy Kliff adopted (Those of you familiar with the game probably realize he's not, in fact, an original character...). Ozzie is in reference to Ozzie Ozborne (and I know someone will get me for not spelling that right).


	5. The Eternal Boy Scout

**"The Eternal Boy Scout"**

* * *

Despite being one of the best and most infamous heroes of the Crusades, one would hardly know it to look at the young man. Most heroes of the Crusades had scars or were missing limbs or were old, hardened men who had eternally lost any vibrance or vigor due to countless fights against inhuman beasts. A hundred years of horrible war would do that to you. 

This one, however, was so fresh and clean that it looked almost like he was a new cadet. His blue and white robes/battle uniform were cleaned and pressed, forming a type of coat arrangement over most of his body. Blue gauntlets were polished and neatly tightened with black straps to his arms. His boots were shined and didn't have a speck of dirt on them, and his feet clicked against the tile floor as he walked. His face and hair were washed and clean so that he was presentable, and they accented his strong yet young facial features…and the intensity of his eyes. One gloved hand swung from side to the side. The other rested on his precious sacred treasure, a sword attached to his belt. Of course…it wasn't just any sword.

The building he was in, one of the cleanest and most advanced on Earth, was brightly lit and architecturally similar to old gothic cathedrals. This one had lighter stone than them, however, and was far more elaborate in terms of ornamentation. The young man cared little for such baubles. To him, the building he worked and moved in should simply have the same purpose as a cathedral…to be a reminder to all of God's power on Earth. After all, that's why it was here. That's why he was here.

Most of this building was under high security, and almost all of the entrances were blockaded by officers who were wearing far more current uniforms with heavy guns and swords. However, this person was one of the few people on Earth who could go about at will. None of the officers did anything to stop him. Some simply saluted him. All of the secure doors that he went to slid aside freely, having scanned his identity and granted him access. As such, he was able to move deeper and deeper into the facility.

At last, he came to one final set of doors. These were covered with lustrous metal and engraved with images of cherubim. If this had been a true cathedral, this would be the place into the innermost sanctum. This was where the Eucharist used to be blessed and stored in older churches. Before that, in the Jewish times, this was the "Holy of Holies", a place so sacred that none save the high priest and God were allowed to be present, the former of the two only once a year. The original priests and high knights of the Sacred Order used it in more modern times.

However…those times were gone. The Sacred Order disbanded when their task was done, like an angel returning to Heaven after working God's Will. The cathedral building was no longer run by knights. Yet since this place had once safeguarded most of the world, then it was a small matter that its successors would want to take it for their own, regardless of how religious or secular they might be. The young man couldn't say he was happy about this…but he trusted them for the most part. They too were devoted to justice and peace. Many of them were former knights themselves. And so long as he was here, it _would_ be a place that would serve as a beacon to drive out the darkness of the Earth.

The doors readily slid aside for him…one of only ten people on Earth who they would react in such a way for.

In an arched chamber reminiscent of inner cloisters of cathedrals, across a tiled floor and surrounded by images worked into stone, metal, and stained glass of images of the Bible, a single large desk sat. The equipment and computer on it were far more advanced than what was expected of such an ornate, old place. And rather than dressing in a reverent robe with a great blue crucifix across it, these people dressed in more official uniforms. They were even more decorated than the young man's. One was seated at the desk. He was an older, harder man…with the look of someone who made many tough decisions regularly. His small, hard eyes burned beneath bushy eyebrows and a large gray mustache. The other stood nearby, holding a small data pad and obviously discussing it with the person. He was much younger and more well-groomed, looking like he had never seen a battle before, and fiddling constantly with an extra-large pair of glasses. However, when the young man entered, both ceased what they were doing. The standing one shrank back and seemed to try to make himself small and inconspicuous. The one at the desk leaned forward and folded his hands in front of him, giving his full attention to the arrival.

Soon, the robed man made it in front of his desk. There were no chairs here, and the young man didn't need one. He immediately slammed his legs together, went as rigid as steel, and saluted.

The officer in at the desk gave a far more casual salute, and leaned back. "At ease."

The young man responded by doing so.

"Report."

"The Cuban mission was a success, sir. In addition to finding and disabling 14 Gears, two inner city drug rings were broken."

The officer started by nodding calmly…but then slowed when he heard the second part of the story. He looked up and gave a critical eye to the young man. "…You were not given clearance to engage in any anti-drug cartel activities, Captain."

"An error on my part, sir."

"And why did you commit this error?"

"Sir, none of my team was implicated. I handled the matter myself and alone. I saw the transactions with my own eyes. Under Code 36, such is grounds for an International Police Force officer to take action when the crime has potential international effects. I had more than adequate reason to believe that abandoning this area now, or making a tip of it to peruse later, would be useless. They would move on. I acted accordingly according to my best judgment. In doing so I committed an error in command, but since I also completed my job…"

"You're not the leader of the Holy Knights anymore, Captain." The officer cut off. "This isn't a ramshackle organization run on guidelines but rules and laws. The war is over and martial law doesn't exist. We may be the International Police Force, but no one likes the idea of 'world police'. In not going through proper procedure, any men you may have arrested will likely be released scott free, and if you killed them all, which I know you can have the habit of doing when you're feeling especially self-righteous, then we may not be able to conduct another operation in Cuba for the next five years. All so that you could break up two small time branches of what was likely a much larger machine. I don't expect to hear of any more 'errors' on your part again. Do I make myself clear?"

"Quite clear, sir."

"Good. Other than that, good work. You've earned a rest, Captain. You are dismissed."

However, the young man didn't move.

"I have something else to report, sir."

The officer raised an eyebrow, but then leaned back and gestured to him. "Proceed."

"I received a lead on Sol Badguy. I have reason to believe he's headed for Switzerland at this time."

The officer hesitated, giving the captain a cynical look.

"…I'll notify the local authories."

"Sir…I request to be allowed to follow up on this lead."

"Permission denied."

"Sir, I'm the best suited to handle Sol, and-"

"Was there something wrong with my previous statement, captain, that led you to think that I had hesitation or wavering in my decision?"

The captain quieted down. Until now, he actually broke his perfect soldier pose. When he started trying to talk about Sol, he even leaned forward a little and began to raise his arm. Yet now, he remembered his place, and quickly returned to his former position.

"No sir."

"You are dismissed."

For the briefest instant, the young man hesitated. Then, he gave a proper bow, turned, and began to march back out the way he came. The officer watched him as he left, and the smaller man turned and began to watch him as well. After a few moments, the captain was at the door. They slid aside, he passed through, and they shut once again.

As soon as they were shut, the one with glasses cracked a none-too-warm smile.

"Ky Kiske sure makes a good boy scout for being such a big shot in the Sacred Order." He half joked. "That, or a good lap dog. Too bad he's a stubborn as a room full of donkeys when it comes to anything that has to do with his honor or sense of righteousness…"

"So long as Ky behaves and does a good job, I don't care if he's itching for a fight with Satan." The older officer answered as he glared at the door…seeming to still see and study Captain Ky Kiske as he walked away. He leaned back in his chair a bit more at this, and then turned over to the smaller man with a critical look. "And _your_ job is to make sure we're ready if our lap dog ever decides _not_ to behave. I don't care if he's practically kissing my feet. This guy ended in three months what an international hero couldn't do in sixty years. What did you pick up from his last mission?"

The smaller man, a bit more humbled now that the older officer was directing his irritation toward him, swallowed back a bit and became much meeker as he raised his information pad and punched on the touch screen. He cleared his throat and spoke up.

"Without a doubt, Ky Kiske is the strongest man ever registered with the Sacred Order of the Holy Knights, which probably makes him the strongest man on the face of the Earth…unless, by some fluke, one of those idiot bounty hunters was better. He's twice as powerful as the second greatest man in the order. His magical power is astounding. He may officially be registered as a class B, but he's borderline to class A."

The officer raised an eyebrow here. "…That's impossible."

"I thought the same thing…but all our current data supports it."

"Then you have enough to proceed with the next phase?"

The smaller man hesitated here. He looked a little nervous and began to sweat as he looked up to the larger officer. "Well…"

He was cut off by the man angrily pounding his fist on the table. His teeth grit in frustration and anger.

"Two years of work, and you still don't know?" He shouted at the man…suddenly grateful for the sound-proof doors. "I have people waiting who want results _now_! I even sent him there because I knew he'd vent some rage on those stupid junkies, and you _still_ don't have enough data?"

The smaller man helplessly shrugged, looking much meeker than before.

"It's no good, sir. We can't get any accurate simulation data on him because we've never observed him at full strength. We've had to infer everything. We'd only be able to really get good readings if we actually saw him fighting for his life."

The officer sneered at him, and turned away. "Perfect." He snorted. "They could have given me this assignment six years ago, when the war was still on. Then I'd have been able to see him at maximum. But there aren't any Gears left for him to kill, and there's no one alive who's a match for him." He wheeled over to the smaller man again at this, a bit calmer now. He inhaled deeply and sighed. "How many more assignments do I need to send him on before you can get enough data as is?"

The smaller man feared the response to this…but he could only shrug. "No man can say."

The officer didn't blow up at him. There was really no point. He seemed to realize he couldn't get blood from a stone. Sighing, he turned back to the desk, propped his elbows on it, and buried his head in his hands.

"I guess I can kiss that money goodbye…" He muttered aloud. "They gave me six months to get to phase two. I'm never going to get there now unless…"

The intercom buzzed. The officer closed his eyes and frowned, obviously irritated that he didn't even have the peace to wallow in his own frustration and anger. However, he was still one of the heads of the IPF, and as such he had to deal with this. Smoothing himself out as much as possible, he leaned back up, reached over, and flipped the switch.

"This is the Commissioner."

_"Sir…"_ A frightened sounding technician answered._"We have a major situation. Some signal is flooding all of our communication systems. It's doing the same to all the commercial outlets too. It's putting out a message…and you won't believe what it's telling us."_

* * *

Ky Kiske was a rare man that some said was great and noble and others said was a sheep. Some thought he was wise beyond his years and others thought he was the most foolish man alive. Both would have said that he was living in a bygone era of fantasy, in which all knights were good and noble and true and faithful and saved damsels in distress from dragons and deposed mad dictators, etc. Some would have said he was a child for that. Others would have said he was Percival reborn. 

But Ky Kiske had always believed that there was a high moral ground in the world. There was a cause that was right and pure and worth fighting and dying for. Ever since he had been a boy he wanted to pursue it. Perhaps it was because he lived in a world that needed heroes that he grew up as he did, indulging these thoughts, encouraging them. Perhaps it was his parents…good, upstanding people who encouraged him to always be truthful, reverent, honest, and blameless. Perhaps it was even his father who had told him countless tales of people like Beowulf and King Arthur, images of perfect men who safeguarded justice with the sword and the spirit. Yet he had never changed. Every day of his life, he vowed that he'd be a champion of good. He'd be like one of the ancient Paladin, or the Knights Templar, or like a wandering knight-errant whose sole purpose in life was to save those who couldn't help themselves, and to bring an era of peace and justice to the world.

One might have thought that his parents' death might have been harsh life or cold reality dunking him in a bucket of ice water, telling him to wake up from childish dreams and realize that life wasn't always fair or just. Yet it only encouraged him. He made himself twice as strong, vowing that he'd never let another child be orphaned so long as he could stand and fight. It encouraged him to go out and seek the Sacred Order of Holy Knights, wanting to join them. He was determined to learn to fight and be the best of the best.

Being turned down flat might also have crushed the youth's dreams. But not him. To him, he had received five years to mold himself into the mightiest man alive. And so he did. Every day he worked himself to the limit. Every night he studied every sword technique he could muster. He disciplined himself and trained his mind, sharpening his own magical abilities. He soon discovered that his natural talents were far better than those of most others. He only took this as a blessing from God…a confirmation. He had been born to be a great knight for the cause of justice. He was determined to make this destiny come true. He worked himself even harder afterward. And because of his own astonishing magical power, which he had indeed slaved for years to sharpen and control, he increased his own natural might four fold. He was determined that when he returned to the Sacred Order, there would be no hesitation to accept him. And there wasn't.

Ky Kiske soon believed he was fulfilling his destiny…to rid humanity of its oppressors and destroyers. He lashed out with righteous anger against every Gear he ran into, his power, passion, and spirit chasing away all fear and doubt. Some Gears actually retreated from him when he confronted them. And the more he destroyed, the greater he became and the faster he destroyed more. They were a scourge of demons, and he was the cure sent by God. He struck with such fervor and force that he didn't even realize how much damage he had done sometimes. Only later, when others told him that he was striking at the Gears more strongly than any other had before did he realize just how much power he had. He was even more stunned to realize that he surpassed Kliff Undersn at his best.

His skill at swordplay and tactics continued to push him higher. There wasn't a Gear that could stand up to him for long. He overwhelmed them all…not just in skill but in raw power. He found himself leading smaller units to successful raids, and making more suggestions when he was under the command of others. At first, they looked at the young man with anger to be so presumptuous. But then they realized his plans were actually ingenious and clever, and they went with them. Success soon followed. He continued to attain more honors and promotions as the war went on, first being put in command of tens…then hundreds…then ten hundreds…

To Ky, he was simply doing his duty. He was giving his all to make the world a better place. That, and making sure that others around him did the same. He had no tolerance for mighty soldiers engaging in trivialities or petty extortions, but he praised the weakest soldiers who gave all of their sweat and blood to win the war. He continued to rise in the esteem of the honorable knights, and even of Kliff Undersn himself. Yet nothing could have prepared him for what happened next.

Scarcely able to believe it, Kliff retired and made him the new leader of the Sacred Order of Holy Knights. He was shocked and for a brief moment completely befuddled. He didn't see how he could possibly be adequate enough to run an entire army. However…he believed the cause of the Sacred Order was just. And he believed that the powers that be would not have put him in this position if they had not believed him capable of doing it. And so, he took it boldly in the end.

He was most astonished at what happened next. The heads of the Sacred Order, having noted Ky's valor and power, decided to bestow upon him the second of their greatest treasures: the Thunderseal, or Fuuraiken. Again, Ky felt completely humbled. There had been countless great warriors before him, but none had been given this weapon. Of the two which the order possessed, the Fireseal and the Thunderseal, the second of the two was far harder to manage. Lightning magic was almost impossible to master. However, Ky had done so, and so they had given him this weapon.

He thought of it as he clenched the handle at his hip. It was a glorious white blade. It had a stone-like guard on top of it over the wrists, and a long two-handed handle with a branching pommel. This was used to focus his own innate power into the blade. When he did so, he could work wonders of lightning that no one else had ever managed. It was beautiful. Ky had protected it with his life ever since, and used it well.

However, that event led him to wonder what had become of the first treasure: the Fireseal. After inquiring a bit, he found out that another one working for the Sacred Order, a great and powerful warrior, renown and valorous, wielded it. It would have been given to Kliff Undersn, but his own magical power was weak whereas this one's was strong. A bounty hunter named Sol Badguy had it, and based on their promotions…both of them would now work closely together.

Ky immediately disliked him. He thought it was insulting and shameful that they should give such a sacred object to some dirty thug who would do anything for money. He soon modified that view. First of all…Sol was hardly a thug. He was the greatest warrior in the order other than Ky. Kliff had recruited him for countless missions, and he had saved countless lives and been responsible for hundreds of victories. What more, Sol was doing this for free.

Even so, Ky constantly gave him a cold shoulder and a down-the-nose glare. He disliked how dirty he always kept himself, how crude he could be in his manners, how he had no respect for superiors, and how he seemed to just do whatever he wanted. The first few weeks with him were hard. He could barely stand to be around him even then.

However…he soon noticed other things. Sol charged into flaming buildings to drag survivors out. He stood his ground in a losing battle when the rest of the knights ran, and he was the only one left to defend innocents. He gave a good thrashing to any knight who was corrupt. And he did help them win the war. He took down Gears as easily as Ky did. Slowly but surely…Ky began to think his earlier instincts were wrong. Perhaps Sol wasn't such a bad person after all. Perhaps he had misjudged him by external appearances. He slowly became more amiable to him. He stopped giving him dirty looks and being so cold. A bit longer, and they might have become friends.

Around that time was when Ky planned their final strike. They would launch a massive invasion…six different forces attacking three different continents. It would be the largest offensive ever…and the largest diversion ever. By now, they had tracked the master Command Gear Justice down to one locale. Ky was going for the throat. If he managed to take him out, then the war would be over at last. However, if he made any push for him that was direct, he'd either counter or bolt. If a massive multi-lateral approach was taken, he'd pause, trying to see where he was needed most, waiting for one of the sides to start losing and then move in.

Ky had done a lot of studying on Justice's past movements and battles with Kliff Undersn. He realized a pattern. Justice stood his ground against small forces that he could handle, but if they ever presented a serious threat of hurting him he bolted. Yet he almost always stood his ground against Kliff. It led Ky to believe that Justice had a penchant for fighting it out with "worthy" challengers. Hence he came up with a plan. Someone would go and engage Justice with intent to kill. Although it was unlikely that they would win, they would hopefully weaken him and distract him long enough for another person to lead a team of high-level knights in, who would seal away Justice within an interdimensional prison.

There was a dilemma. Both halves of the plan, fighting Justice enough to actually weaken him and sealing him away in the void, required warriors of exceptional strength and magical ability. Naturally, Ky and Sol were the only ones fit for the job. The question would be…who would do what? The job of keeping Justice busy was clearly the more life-threatening one. As a result, Ky immediately volunteered to do it.

He was a bit surprised that Sol practically demanded that he not do it. He insisted on being the one. Ky was perplexed by this, but seeing as he believed this to be his true purpose, he told Sol that he had decided, and as leader of the Sacred Order his word was final.

In response…Sol waited until his back was turned and knocked him out.

When Ky awoke about an hour later, he heard that Sol had already gone after Justice, leaving Ky behind to seal him away. The youth was angry…not only at having been so cowardly and underhandedly taken down, but also that his goal in this war was taken from him. Justice was his to finish. Why did Sol care so much? He didn't know…but he had no time. He went out with the rest of his unit to find them.

They did catch up with them eventually. Sneaking in through the old sewer lines, they surfaced almost right next to the place that Justice and Sol had picked for their battlefield. On coming out…Ky saw Sol sprawled out on the ground, bleeding and torn, with the Fireseal lying ten feet away from his grasp. He also saw Justice.

Ky nearly felt his resolve choked out of him. He was looking upon an abomination that few had ever lived long to talk about. And now that he saw him…he realized that he had a different power about him, a power to make all fear and feel weak compared to him. Some invisible icy hand seized his heart and wouldn't let him move. He immobilized the rest of the Holy Knights, and they were frozen watching the two of them.

He was clothed from his head to his feet in sharp, gleaming, perfect armor of white and blue. It was of an advanced technology Ky had never seen before, but it concealed a very tall, very hulking frame. A long, armored tail thrashed about on the ground, cutting rifts into stone with each flick. Each gauntleted hand was tipped with razor sharp claws, all of which were stained with Sol's blood. From beneath a cold, lifeless visor, the monster looked down on its prey as it pinned him with one foot, seeming to crush him like a bug beneath it. The only sign that there was anything other than a soulless machine there was a long flowing mane of red hair protruding from the back of the helmet, extending far down the backside of the armor.

They were saying things to each other that Ky couldn't make out…though Justice's voice was like that of doom, and shook the air and the foundation around him. Ky might have been frozen there until it was all over…

But somehow, he forced himself to remember his mission. He brought his resolve back and began to build it back up. When he did…some sort of illusion fell from his eyes. He looked at Justice again, and saw the armor broke in several places. Blood was even leaking out from them. Then he realized it. Justice wasn't invincible or immortal. Sol had hurt it. What he mistook for flexing was the thing panting. It was worn out and injured. It could be beaten.

The rest of Ky's bravery returned, and with a yell so powerful he shook his companions out of their fear and forced them to act, he began the sealing ceremony.

Justice turned to see them…but it was too late. The runes already materialized around his body. The air was already warping. He tried to escape, but he was too weak to break free of the binding magic. He looked up at Ky, and the youth was certain that his face was overcome with the same rage that the Devil himself thought as he was banished into Hell. Yet Ky's face was as stone as the Archangel Michael's, and he continued to chant. It fell to the ground. It tried to brace itself. But reality was collapsing in, drawing it into the seal.

At last, it broke. The unbeatable monstrosity let go and went into the ripple of time…and disappeared. The runes vanished…and every last Gear on Earth became docile again.

The Crusades were over.

Ky could hardly believe it. Generations had grown up knowing only the Crusades…and it was over. The goal of peace, so long believed in and yet thought so impossible to attain, had come. The world was free again. He had fulfilled his purpose.

Soon, Ky went over and helped Sol up, and them and the advanced knights made their way back out to the waiting Holy Knights, who showered them with praise and adoration. It was only because Ky didn't believe in being venerated over God that they didn't erect monuments to him, both that day and in the days that followed. However, he realized the victory was not his own. If Sol hadn't come in and weakened Justice, risking his life in the process, none of it would have been possible.

Once they returned to camp, they separated to doctor their wounds. Ky was still surrounded by knights ecstatic with praise, trying to fully believe that the war was over. Sol, however, needed to get stitched up. While they were separated, Ky realized that he had been so mad about being knocked out that he hadn't said a word to Sol since they first separated. He helped him up, but he hadn't even dignified him with a "good work". At this point, Ky began to think he had very wrongly misjudged the man. His methods were rough and even dishonest…but he was a good person inside. He had saved the world just as much as Ky…maybe even more. He was expected to address the Holy Knights soon, and he planned on naming Sol Badguy as the true hero of the victory over Justice.

He had just finished cleaning his uniform and was ready to go out when a panicked knight ran in and gave him the news.

Sol had let himself be bandaged up somewhat, but as the doctor went for painkillers he left the medical tent. They looked for him, knowing he shouldn't have been moving around. But no matter where they looked, they couldn't find him. They put out an alert for everyone to keep an eye out for him. After that, they checked his locker. It was emptied. Soon after, they got a word in. Someone had seen him at the skyport, leaving for one of the gates. They checked it out further, and found out that he had bought a one-way ticket for North America.

And he had taken the Fireseal with him.

From the day he had received it, it had been clear both to the Sacred Order and to Sol that the weapon was not a gift. It was a loan. That weapon was one of the most precious treasures they had. It was priceless beyond measure, and the Sacred Order wanted to make sure that it would stay safeguarded until times of danger. Now that the war was over, they expected him to return it so that it would be put away again. Instead…he had stolen it.

Ky felt betrayed. Until now, he had begun to think that Sol was a good guy. Yet now, it became clear to him that the bounty hunter had wanted something out of this after all. He had stolen the sacred weapon. It was worth a thousand times its weight in platinum. To him, he soon saw it clearly. Sol had fought alongside them and made himself a hero, giving them all the victories they wanted. That was all so he could get his hands on the Fireseal, knowing how valuable and precious it was. Then, as soon as he had a chance, say in the lull and confusion of the post war, he ran off with it. Everything he had done…all of his nobility and sacrifice…it was just so he could manipulate the greatest theft of the century. To Ky, it was like he was stabbed in the back. He had started to trust him and respect him…but it was all a sham. He thought he had been a person who cared about justice and peace…but it had all been a load of bull. Now, some dirty, treacherous bounty hunter scum had one of the most sacred treasures of the Holy Knights.

Not even when his parents had been murdered had Ky felt so angry. He did give his speech. He did congratulate everyone and thank them for their valor and work. And then…he proceeded to publicly strip down Sol Badguy in the worst way possible. He exposed his theft and his version of why Sol had done it. He called him worse than a Gear, manipulating good people so that he could profit in a time when humanity had to be united. He said he was an insult to every true hero of the war. Last but not least…he vowed that he would hunt Sol down, bring him to justice, and return the Fireseal. And if Sol refused to go quietly…he'd destroy him.

Despite what Ky said, the Sacred Order of the Holy Knights disbanded soon after. Their task was done. They still maintained shrines and churches, but their old position of being world defenders was done. Ky continued to wear his uniform from the war, however, and they let him continue to wield the Thunderseal. He vowed he would until the day he brought back the Fireseal to rest alongside it. The Post-War Administration Bureau went into full action, cleaning up the mess that was left in the wake of the century-long Crusades.

One of its first actions that it did was to create the International Police Force. Though the Gears were gone, mankind had returned to its criminal ways in spades. Many international crime groups had arisen again while the war was still going on. Also, there were still Gears loose through much of the world. They were docile, but no chance could be taken on them ever becoming active again. This new force would be exempt from as much border bureaucracy as the police of the past had to deal with. It would be able to work far more effectively in that regard. Ky was one of the first approached to head the new organization. Seeing that Sol would be on the top ten list of wanted criminals, he agreed and was made Captain.

Since then, Ky had continued to live out his life's purpose…punishing the guilty and rescuing the innocent. He wouldn't have it any other way. However…he sometimes grew irritated at having to be under a more rigid code of conduct. In the Sacred Order of Holy Knights, he was able to operate with far less restriction, and he was able to not let a few mundane laws get in the way of true justice. There was only one true law…and nothing should stand in its way.

Ky inhaled and exhaled, trying to relax. Perhaps the Commissioner was right. He needed to relax more. He'd been on a lot of assignments lately. Perhaps he should go to the indoor park, or spend some time in prayer…

Even as Ky thought about this, and continued to walk down the halls of headquarters, he noticed something up ahead. A gathering of officers and staff had formed. Not only them, but some of the guards had pulled away from their posts and were with them. All of them were clustered around one of the television monitors hanging in the building. Ky hadn't much taste for them. He never watched any of the programs that were put on. He only looked at it for news, but given his position he usually knew it before the anchormen did. Nevertheless, he felt a bit of his old "boy scout" side flaring up in him at seeing guards off of their posts, and he began to walk forward to see what it was about.

As he approached and looked up, he began to hear the audio. Yet just as it did, it cut off. He also made out something on the screen. However, a moment later, and it shifted rapidly and flickered. Ky was hardly up on technology, but he knew what the look of some prerecorded image coming into play was. He walked a bit closer, letting the details come further into view.

It was almost like a news report, with the one anchor sitting down in front of a desk of some sort and reading off the day's events. However…this wasn't the news. The entire image was overshadowed in black. Wherever this had been recorded, it was with far insufficient lighting. As a result, all that Ky could really make out was the silhouette of a humanoid and what he, she, or it was sitting at. The person itself looked hooded in some way, and so even from an outline it was impossible to make out anyone.

Soon something spoke. Ky said "something", because it was impossible to tell if it was man or woman. A voice distorter was working, making it sound deep and metallic, but also very distinct.

_"The message that you are now seeing is being broadcast on every television receiver capable of receiving a cable or satellite link. In addition, it is being broadcast in the primary language of every country that has designated one. I have taken the time and effort of providing a translation, and I assure you that I have missed none of the details. Some of you will simply have a more…emotive…message than others. The purpose for this, as you will soon see, is that this is a message that I wish everyone in the world to see and soon know about._

_"You do not know me, but that is hardly important. Very soon, a privileged few of you will get to meet me personally…if they can withstand the trials. I hope that those in power, ones who are now trying desperately…and hopelessly…to find the source of my message and shut it down or simply to block this transmission will take this as my grim seriousness of what I say next. Many of you may take me as some common prankster, or perhaps in your stubbornness to be willing to accept bad news you may like to write me off as a liar. To those…I simply say wait and see for yourselves. For all the rest of you with more wisdom, I say this without the slightest hesitation._

_"Within the next seven days…Justice, the Gear and not some abstract, flimsy notion, will return."_

The others had already heard this, but Ky had not. His eyes widened slightly. Although over a thousand things within him told him that was quite impossible, and he didn't believe it one bit, this was enough to make him interested in the message as well.

_"Upon that day…each and every remaining Gear will once again align itself together and restart the war. All of your carefully balanced and quite fragile systems of order and law will be shattered like so much glass. Millions will die in horror and confusion at the plight. The Crusades will return in full force. However…this time humanity shall not be so lucky. I have irrefutable proof that Justice now possesses the means to give them the one true edge they lacked over humanity…the ability to breed. This world will belong to the Gears in the event of a second war. Those of you who refuse to believe this will simply die as haplessly and pathetically as the first generation who foolishly believed they were the masters of the Gears."_

Hearing this made Ky tense. Normally, he would have waved this person off by now, or wanted to dispatch them for sowing discord. However…something was wrong. Even with the voice altered, something about the way this person talked seemed so…serious. Cold and serious. He wasn't talking passionately. If he was, Ky might have thought he was an actor. It was the fact that he talked so _calmly_, as if he was saying that he passed a red car on the way to work that evening, or that it would rain tomorrow morning. Something about how calm he was began to erode at Ky's beliefs and confidence. It began to make him more uncertain…and fill himself with a spark of doubt, and beyond it a twinge of fear.

All of this was quite impossible. Justice was sealed away forever. The Gears were doomed to destruction, and they would never come back much less breed.

…And what if it wasn't? What then?

Such was a nightmarish possibility that Ky had never entertained in the slightest. He wouldn't if anyone else was speaking now. Yet this voice…somehow it was dipping into his subconscious and tickling that back part of the brain that controlled fear. _You remember Justice, Ky. Look at how strong he was. Look at how large. Look at how unstoppable. Did you really think some puny little magic circles were going to stop him? Or that he wouldn't eventually learn how to make more of himself?_

_"In previous times, it was the Sacred Order of Holy Knights that defended the world. I am sending out this message in hopes of doing the same. I desire to form a second Sacred Order of Holy Knights. However, unlike the previous one…filled with the weak and helpless, this one shall be pure. Only the most powerful souls will be allowed into it. Spirits of the highest quality…people excelling in power both magical and physical. This will be an order made only of the elite. This order will exist for the sole purpose of putting an end to Justice once and for all when he returns. The instant that he comes forth from his prison, he shall be not sealed away again but destroyed forever._

_"To determine who shall be worthy of carrying out this task…I have designed a test that shall place each hopeful through a crucible of fire. I am holding a tournament of sorts on the island formerly known as Great Britain. Those who would join…I extend to you the invitation to come and take part. To prove your worth…you need simply find me, and defeat all who stand in your path. _

_"Furthermore…to ensure that quite a sampling of individuals comes…and to ensure that you go through these tests without cooperation so as to 'cheat' your way through to the end…I throw in an additional prize. Whoever reaches me shall have any one wish granted to them. Now…I trust there is some suspicion as to this item of the deal. Even if I speak the truth, how can I possibly grant to you anything?_

_"To that end…I have performed several actions, each of which you can soon confirm for yourselves. Hopefully this will also help convince you of my sincerity. I care only for the power of the knights, not for your notions of good or evil. Therefore, I have done four things. Two…a recent shipment of five million credits in gold bars to the orphanage in Orleans, France and the healing of a man paralyzed from the neck down for ten years in Barcelona, Spain at the First Memorial Hospital…are good. Two…the destruction of one of the walls of China's Manchurian Superprison which allowed ten high profile criminals to escape and the total annihilation of the island of Isla de los Ojos two hundred miles off the coast of Panama…are evil. Hopefully this convinces you of what I can do with my power._

_"Starting today, you have exactly seven days to arrive before the return of Justice. I expect to see many high-quality souls. This message will be repeated for the remainder of today."_

The man sat still after that. Moments later, the screen shifted once and the positions changed, indicating that the recording was once again being replaced. It showed the same shadow in a different position. Moments later, Ky heard the voice.

_"The message that you are now seeing-"_

But Ky didn't wait a second longer. He turned and ran to the intelligence division as quickly as he could.

* * *

"You know the answer this soon?" The Commissioner asked. 

The officer, beneath Ky's rank, sighed. "Captain Kiske already had us double check the results while you put out the order, sir. All four sites are confirmed. The gold was delivered this morning by a neutral shipping service. The man began walking after waking up this morning. Ten criminals are reported missing, including Venom. Last but not least, there's a crater still filling with water where the Isla de los Ojos was."

The Commissioner sighed, and leaned his elbow on the table. He propped up his head with one hand, considering this mess. This wasn't necessarily indicative of anything. Much of the gold in the world, and its locations, had been lost years early when the wars began. Recovery from paralysis was something, but assuming that the mysterious speaker had found some drug, snuck in, and wired it up to his IV that would have undone the damage, or simply learning a powerful enough spell (though the General had never heard of this) was a lot more probable than a wish being granted. As for the other two…well…

No one short of a Gear could have broken that prison wall. And the only weapon known of that was capable of blowing away an island was a bomb the Gears had designed. Whoever this guy was, he had told the truth about one thing…he had wanted to get their attention, and he had it.

"Dismissed."

The officer saluted, not nearly as briskly or cleanly as Ky, and then turned to leave. The Commissioner leaned back and sighed, rubbing his mustache and thinking. Idol was nearby, polishing his glasses and waiting until they were alone to say his own two cents. As for the Commissioner, he continued to consider his options.

The Commissioner really didn't believe that stuff about Justice coming back. There was no way to reopen the dimension the Holy Knights had thrown the Gears into as far as he knew. It was practically like saying Justice would rise from the grave, clothe himself in flesh, and go about drinking the blood of virgins or something… He had no idea why this guy had thrown that in, but it was probably just to get the attention of those watching. The typical panicky idiot civilian would gobble it up, as well as the thought of having that one wish. For most idiots, they wouldn't even care if the wish was real or not. He had demonstrated the ability to bestow large sums of money, cure severe physical ailments, free prisoners, and obliterate enemies. Those were the big wishes for most people…unless some bleeding heart came up and wanted "world peace". It would get people coming, and a lot of them wouldn't be the savory type.

And even if there was no Justice coming back, this was more than enough to throw people into a panic. You'd only need an idiot dressed in armor detonating some major bomb to make the world go crazy. It would make for one helluva prank…or some great diversion to do something worse. Not to mention the fact that the Commissioner, despite his bravery, had a distant dark thought in his mind. Impossible as it was…what if this guy was telling the truth?

There were only two real choices. One was to take the pessimistic view, and say that this joker wasn't fooling around. If so…well then, that was something that was way too bad to imagine. Assuming the impossible happened and somehow Justice could come back from the dead…the world would be a wreck. They were better armed now, but they also didn't have thousands of warriors on standby all over Earth waiting to tangle. A few cities destroyed would be all it would take to throw the planet into chaos. People would tear each other open alive and what order had been rebuilt would be thrown down. There were still quite a few Gears unaccounted for. And if they really had figured out how to breed… The only choice would be to do as he suggested…or mount the whole police force, get to England, and demand to know where he was coming out so they could kill him as soon as he arrived.

The second was optimistic. The guy could be lying. Yet if so…then he couldn't be let run around. He could still cause plenty of damage with this story, and anyone who had managed to get his hands on the stuff he had would be in the running for making quite the black market industry. That bomb had been a test. There couldn't be a second one. They were still cleaning up the messes from the rest of the Gears' bombs. He had to be captured, interrogated, and if necessary taken out. Again, the solution was to send the full police force in. Yet without knowing a thing about what was going on, they could walk right into a trap. All that guy would have to do was safely fly a thousand miles away (assuming he wasn't already), and then detonate another bomb to make the world one IPF shorter. It would make a difference if they knew what this guy really wanted…

The doors closed behind the officer as he left. Once again, they were in the clear in the soundproof room.

The Commissioner sighed. "This is one huge mess."

"Actually…I think this is our lucky day."

The bigger man looked surprised at this response, and turned to Idol. The smaller man seemed to be rather pleased with himself, just like some know-it-all at school who had just trumped one of his dumber bullies in grades. He looked down to the Commissioner here.

"I'm assuming you're going to want to do something about this situation. Someone or some group is going to _have_ to go."

The Commissioner didn't answer. He kept listening.

"Captain Kiske has already shown a great interest in this. There's bound to be many strong outlaws there, ones at the top of the wanted list. The Captain could take them all out and clean your slate…but not unless he goes to the top of his abilities."

The big man stayed silent…but a light of realization began to come into his eyes.

Idol leaned closer with a wide smile. "This person won't let you come unless you send in just one person. So you send in Ky. He finds out what's behind this and busts the culprit. In the meantime, he takes out the most wanted on your list. And we collect the final bit of data we need to proceed to phase two."

The Commissioner slowly turned away from Idol, staring out into space and thinking this over, realizing that the idea had a lot of merit.

Idol went up to his ear.

"Perhaps we might even get lucky…and Captain Kiske falls during the operation. Then we'll have enough data to replace him, and we don't have to worry about him ever becoming a turncoat and having to 'retire' him. Nice and easy right there."

As the Commissioner heard all of this, he could only think one thing.

_Who would have thought that a seeming disaster could be such a turn of good fortune?_

Without a moment's hesitation longer, the Commissioner turned over to his intercom and pressed a button.

"Captain Kiske…report to the main office immediately for new assignment."

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: A Mighty Jellyfish...

On a note, the character of the scrawny man talking to the Commissioner was named Idol after Billy Idol, who also was the first person to release an album on CD.


	6. A Mighty Jellyfish

**"A Mighty Jellyfish"**

* * *

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" 

The girl groaned and turned in her bed, throwing her pillow over the top of it and jamming it in her ears. She hated it when people woke her up before noon. She tried to block it out, hoping that they'd pipe down and not try to do anything else to wake her before she nodded back off…

No such luck.

The door to her cabin was practically kicked open. If this had been any other time, the girl might have panicked and thought they were being invaded for a change. However, seeing as it was her normally excitable friend April doing it, she knew far better.

"MaygetupgetdressedgettotheTVNOW!" Came out in one chain of babble, before April ran off, the door still swinging from her initial hit behind her. It swung back into the frame, and the girl, May, hoped that it would click. It didn't. It bounced back out and swung open again, bathing the area in white, harsh light that surrounded her and chased away the nice, sleep-inducing darkness. Not only that, but with her cabin door open, May heard a mixture of panicked babbling and outright sobbing from the rest of the crew. Sleep was now impossible. Even if she somehow managed it, April would no doubt return within five minutes with an even louder and more frantic message.

The girl groaned again.

_This is the only thing I hate about being a pirate._

Shifting around on her bed, more like some sort of eel tied into a knot that someone trying to get up, May churned around for the edge of the covers. She kept as much of her body under her sheets and on her mattress as possible as she slid to the edge and let one leg over. Even then, she only slowly and reluctantly pulled out the rest of her body. It didn't matter that the massive engine on board the May Ship constantly channeled excess heat throughout the rest of the ship…morning at over 20,000 feet was cold. Her foot touched down on a few icy metal panels before resting on the carpet mat she had put in her room, and then held it there. After groaning and yawning again, the girl finally managed to pull herself out from under the covers.

Yawning again and scratching her sides a bit, the girl in the long, white, simple nightgown reached for her hair and undid a few hastily tied ribbons. As she undid each one, her hair began to come out and down. It did so quite a bit over the next minute, until she was revealed to have a long mane going all the way to her ankles. Only her bangs were shorter, and even then they were down to her chin. They had been brushed aside so often that they spread on to the sides of her face by default. Grumbling a bit, she walked over to her locker, slipping her feet into the slippers she had swiped last year from the luxury liner to avoid stepping on the cold floor. Once there, she quickly picked out her towel, soap, shampoo…and conditioner. Most of the crew didn't indulge in conditioner, leaving their hair short enough to where shampoo was sufficient. But May hated those styles, and went to considerable effort raiding three different women's cabins before she found a bottle. It was getting low and she'd have to have more soon, but for now she muttered again, turned, and walked out of her cabin.

The others were practically bouncing off the walls, screaming, crying hysterically, and grasping each other in their arms babbling about what they were going to do. May barely noticed this. Her eyes were nearly shut and she was still mumbling to herself. A few pirates actually ran up to her, took her by the shoulders, and shook her in desperation. Some of them asked her what they would do, to which she mumbled something back, one time coming out like "coffee". She kept this up as she walked through the lounge until she made her way to the showers.

Once inside, she shut the door behind her to block out some of the noise. She was still so sleepy she didn't realize that, for once, she was the only girl in the bathroom. The large lounge area aboard the May Ship was surrounded by separate cabins for up to twenty people, although they currently only had twelve occupied. And since most of them were teenage girls, and this was a weekend, the place should have been filled with girls on showers. However, she was alone, and made her way to one to begin grooming herself.

May might have gone alert if she took cold showers, but she liked hot ones. As so, she only became slightly more aware of what was going on, and devoted most of her senses to cleaning herself. She was halfway through massaging the shampoo into her hair, whistling a bit, when the door to the bathroom opened.

Moments later, April yanked the door open (May could tell by her gait and mannerisms), rushed to the shower…and to May's surprise yanked it open.

It didn't matter that they were all girls here. May snapped her head to her and covered her body instantly.

"ACK!"

"What are you doing showering!" April screamed. "We have a crisis on our hands and all the crew members need you!"

The girl immediately abandoned May and ran back out. May, now a bit more alert, clenched her teeth and poked her head out as she shut the curtain. "Well I need to bathe! And I could do it without being bothered by perverted ex-friends!" Then, angrily, shut the curtain behind her.

When May was finally finished, she was far more alert, but still feeling a bit sleepy and far more irritable. It wasn't enough for April to get her up now. She had to keep bothering her. Throwing her nightgown back on, May walked back out of the door.

Everyone was still in a panic, surrounding the TV. However, it was off now. May wondered what was so important on it that they had to turn it off so soon. While she walked, she gave a glance around the chamber. All of the yelling was making March cry, she noticed. But not only that…Leap was in the room as well. Being the only "adult" on the ship other than Johnny, she seemed to be trying to relax some of the younger members. But she rarely ever left the kitchen… And was that Octy over there? Wasn't she supposed to be keeping a lookout? In fact, the whole crew was there other than Johnny. What was going on?

Sephy seemed to notice her as she walked out. The moment she did, she turned her whole body around and ran up to her as quickly as she could. She nearly frantically seized May by the shoulders, actually shaking the girl up a bit.

"What are we gonna do, May? _What are we gonna do?_" She nearly screamed in desperation.

Seconds later, July, looking cold as ever out of her one remaining eye and yet, even now, more shook up than the others, spun Sephy around and off of May and gave her a slap across the face. "Get ahold of yourself!" She cried as she gave her a shake. "What would the captain say if he saw you right now?"

Sephy only began to blubber.

"Oh, leave her alone, July!" April called from where she was. "I'm not feeling much better right now! The whole crew's falling apart!"

Before sticking around to have anything else go wrong…but now feeling far more concerned about what was taking place…May turned and rushed back over to her cabin. The moment she was there, she closed the door behind her and locked it before anyone else could run up to her. She knew how Johnny told her to ignore the locks, because if there was ever a fire they'd be cooked (the keyholes were so rusted they'd never hold), but she wanted to avoid this madness for a while longer. Now isolated, she began to go about her work.

May's hair was soon brushed and tied back. After that, she stripped off her nightgown and threw on her tight black pants and orange coat/slip. She liked the color and the feel of this. Most of the other Jellyfish Air Pirates dressed like normal crew members: sailor suits, short skirts, bandannas around their necks and over their heads, but May had made this costume herself two years ago. It took some begging, but eventually Johnny caved and let her keep it. She was first mate, after all, and she was entitled to wear something to stick out from her companions. Still, the jealousy had been a bit hard to deal with…

After tightening her slip, May put on her oversized orange boots and tightened them. She slipped on black gloves with heavy metal bracers over them, and adjusted another one around her neck. (You never knew when someone would slash for it, after all.) To top it all off, May placed on her captain's hat. It had no official distinction, just the same orange color and a Jolly Roger, but she liked it none the less. Besides…everyone knew she wasn't the real captain. But Johnny himself didn't wear a captain's hat, and so she indulged it.

After admiring her appearance a bit in her locker mirror, May closed the door, turned, and began to make her way out. She ignored her own oversized weapon for now. Being a class D magic, she could hoist it with ease…but it was rather hard to maneuver around the ship. And so, she alone went to her door and opened it.

The moment she did, she stopped where she was.

Looking rather impatient and irritable, the remaining eleven members of the crew were glaring at her with arms crossed. Even Janis the cat seemed to regard her darkly.

"Well look who finally decided to grace us with her presence." July sourly stated.

"Honestly, May, I thought you of all people would care more about this!" Febby complained. "I thought you'd be the one to tell the rest of us!"

"And now you're the last one of us up!" June called out. "Don't you care about Johnny?"

On hearing this, May's eyes immediately widened. Her body went rigid. She hadn't heard anything about that part.

"Johnny? What about Johnny?"

"About him in California this morning!" Octy threw in. "About when he ran into the police!"

May instantly paled as she turned twice as shocked. "Police?" She shrieked. "What happened with Johnny and the police?"

Now the others began to look confused.

"Well…didn't April tell you?" Leap asked.

"April just told me to get dressed and go to the TV." May answered, as if none of that was important. She was starting to get as panicked as the others. "What about Johnny? What's happened to my Johnny!"

The other Jellyfish Air Pirates turned and glared at April now. The pirate innocently looked around for a moment, and then gave a shrug. "I…I guess I was so messed up over what I heard, I forgot to mention the details…"

_"What's happened to my Johnny?"_ May cried at the top of her lungs.

The other pirates, much calmer and more understanding now, sighed and looked back to May. Novel brushed some of the hair out of her eyes, and then turned around to the television. "Come this way, May." She spoke in her normally calm voice. "This was the top story all morning. I recorded it. Since then, some guy all dressed in shadow has come on and has been playing the same thing so we can't see it on the news. But I'll show you the main thing. I saw it when I was working on the mecha in the garage."

Novel began to walk over to the TV. The other pirates followed. May, beginning to look very anxious now, as she had been getting steadily worse ever since hearing the slightest possibility that Johnny was in trouble, followed quickly. She brushed past the others and went up to where Novel was when she reached the television. It was a wireless, which was actually the best kind when you spent all of your time in the air with clear signals to space. However, it had a multitude of other devices on it that Novel had hooked up over the years. She began to fiddle with them now as she turned the TV back on.

April went up to May's side soon after, putting her hand on her shoulder and leaning in. She was still anxious. "Remember how we dropped off Johnny three days ago in the United States? How he said he was going to be looking for a 'December' for the crew?"

May remembered that. She hadn't wanted it to begin with. Although Johnny was by far a better fighter than her, she didn't like him being off the ship. He was, after all, the most wanted man by the IPF and most other countries. She always thought that was so amazing about him…being with the most infamous criminal in the world… Just thinking about it made her feel all airy and light… However, she snapped out of it and got back to the task at hand soon enough.

Novel had finished flicking a few switches. For a moment, the screen came on to show some shadow talking about justice and power or something, but then it cut out to reveal an earlier transmission. May immediately hunched forward so closely that she nearly touched her face to the screen.

It was a news report, showing an anchor at a desk. Nearby, in one of the smaller windows to his left, there was the clear, unmistakable picture of Johnny Sfondi. May would know that face anywhere. She had dreamed about it so many times…

_"In other news, the infamous criminal Johnny Sfondi was arrested today at 2:45 AM after a showdown with over one hundred IPF units. He was found in the Deacon, California area early this morning, when an off-duty undercover IPF member recognized his face at a local bus stop. Sfondi was reported as being intoxicated and semi-conscious, but this didn't stop him from injuring 47 of the apprehending officers before he was brought down. Sfondi has committed over 124 documented acts of theft and robbery, including last summer's theft of some 500,000,000 credits from the Floating Continent of Zepp, which has since put him on the country's list of criminals to be shot on recognition. Due to his crimes, Sfondi will likely be deemed elligable for "Trial Overruling" under Code 6 of IPF legislation, and will be transferred to China's Manchurian Superprison as soon as possible. Until then, Johnny remains under lockdown within California's Maximum Security Penitentiary. The rest of his gang, known as the 'Jellyfish Air Pirates', are still at large…"_

May heard no more. Instead…she did what each of the other pirates had done one by one in turn when they heard the story on the news.

"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"

* * *

The world was never a good place to grow up in if you were poor, but now was one of the worst times in history where this was so. In this world, the rich and poor had been broken off into far more separate sections. Those with money and prosperity didn't like having the idea of the less fortunate around them. Sometimes this was because they knew crime, drugs, and rape were associated with lower income areas. Sometimes this was simply for images sake…not wanting to have to be bothered by "dirty people littering our front steps". Governments thought much the same way. 

As a result, the poor were either marginalized into zones where there were only other poor people to depend on, and as such had no spare money or food to begin with, or they were shoved into a slave class as they had done on areas like Zepp. Either way, it was a hard life. Crime did indeed explode in these areas, but to authorities it was just an opportunity for them to destroy each other, and do their job for them. The only thing they cared about was when they tried to cross over into the world of the "haves". Then they wanted them out, not wanting them to bring any of the problems that they had made them raise in the first place back into the world that had shunned them.

Kids were in especially bad shape. Malnourished, uneducated, unloved (when their reckless parents realized they had another mouth to feed and they stopped being baby cute), they were thrown out to fend for themselves. They would either die or grow up to perpetuate the same cycle their parents had. Occasionally, there were children born to loving families. But this was an even sadder tale. All their parents could do was hope to impart on their children a sense of generosity and a willingness to change the world. In the end, all they would do was make life a little easier on those around them, but it was good enough. The world had changed so that if you were poor, society was against you to make sure you stayed that way rather than risk you "contaminating" the "good world". Still, helping your fellow man was a first step…but many were too frustrated by this long, slow process to do it the way their parents tried to teach them, and were corrupted by the world around them. Even if not…sometimes the less generous souls around them took away your source of love and kindness, and left you to either rot or be rotted from the inside out.

May wasn't sure which kind of parents had given birth to her…only that she had not yet lost her innocence at the age of four. That was when she remembered being hungry, thirsty, dirty, and tired, running away from men who wanted her. She didn't know why they wanted her at the time, only that they sought her ravenously. And all she could do was run through the ruins of some city somewhere. She didn't even remember the country.

Finally, she tripped and fell. She was too weak to keep going. Helpless, she could only lie there and wait for the end. She hoped for a moment that she hadn't been seen, but it was no such luck. They wanted her so badly…it was like they were starving wolves chasing a sick deer. Soon they were on her, and closed in to do who knew what.

Then…he came.

Though she was young then, even at that point May felt something in her heart flutter just to see him. Was it possible to have a crush at only four years old? Or was it just some imitation of what older adults did? Weren't kids at that age supposed to go, "Boys? Ew!"? Then why had she felt that way?

Even then he was rippling with muscles, and that black hat and shades seemed to make him some sort of dreamy dark desperado. What May assumed was only a stick at his sides turned out to be some sort of concealed sword. She never had been able to remember what Johnny called it. He didn't kill them. In fact, he only used the blade to cut through their own weapons or to slice at overhanging junk, dropping it on them. That first time, he didn't even spill a drop of blood. It wouldn't be until later that May learned Johnny never spilled blood in front of children.

Soon they were running for their lives while two of them lay unconscious at his feet. Any normal child probably would have shrank away from the man in black as easily as she had shrank away from her pursuers. But not May. Not only was she in stunned awe, like a kid who had just seen a circus trick, but she ran forward, wrapped his arms around his legs, and hugged him in gratitude and appreciation. Johnny, on his part, gave her a smile, reached down, and rubbed her hair. Soon after, it was like a silent agreement had passed by them. Or perhaps they had said something…May still couldn't remember. But whatever it was, it was established. Johnny would be Peter Pan, May would be Wendy, and she would be spirited away to a new world of fun and excitement.

May received her new name and her birthday soon after. She never had managed to recall what she was named before that happened. She asked Johnny sometimes if he knew, but he said he didn't. Sometimes…it almost seemed to come on her while she was dreaming. But she could never could quite remember it. At any rate, she now celebrated her birthday, the day she began her current life, on May 5th. That also was the source of her name, May.

May didn't hit it off with the rest of the members of the current crew at that time so easily as Johnny. The first one she really bonded to was a girl not much older than her named April. Of course, that probably wasn't her real name any more than May was her own. She also hit it off fairly easily with Janis, being a cat. As for the others, Febby, July, Augus, Novel, and Leap, it took a bit more time with them. Yet by the time she was six they were all friends. By the time she was seven…they were more than that.

In those days, they were mobile and always on the run. However…they were a gang. At the time, they were just the Jellyfish Gang. Yet each and every one of them was a crook. In the early days, Johnny did almost all of the work. The others were still too young. Even then, however, every day was an adventure.

Johnny was indeed a renown criminal, and was infamous all over the world. However…the only people who wanted him locked up were those who were in the stuffed shirt upper class or lawmen. Everyone else, who in the case was mostly the poor, loved him. Johnny went about busting into rich people's homes, usually ones who were also corrupt businessmen or officials, stole their loot, and gave it to the poor. Most of the police said this was a lie, some romantic concept made up by their gang to make Johnny look good to others and therefore reluctant to turn in. But it was true. Simple and childish as it seemed, it was absolutely true. The Jellyfish Gang only ever kept commodities and enough to keep themselves going. The rest went to poverty stricken residents in the worst slums in the world. In those days, they weren't that mobile, and so Johnny was isolated to the continent of Asia. Yet they still did good work.

And it was true…the people loved him. He was like a modern day Robin Hood. Perhaps this too seemed a bit too "fairy tale" to most people, and that the world was not so simple as to see that you can simply "steal from the rich and give to the poor".

Yet May herself had seen years later when a family that he been living in starvation after the father died made a decent life for themselves when Johnny had given them enough money to but a pair of sheep, which they used for wool and milk as something to sell and make some cash for their family. She had seen a poor farmer who had given up everything he had trying to pay a debt for desperately needed farm equipment now making enough from his small field to give something back to his neighbors. She had seen a family with three children with no future rejoice when the oldest came back from school, school that Johnny had paid for, with the prospects of moving into a better world.

Some of the rich folks tracked their money back down. Some of them took it back violently, hoping to turn the people against Johnny and eventually turn him in. Wherever they were capable, the Jellyfish Gang intervened, but it wasn't always possible. Luckily, it didn't take long for poor communities to realize that those who wanted their money back cared only about their own pocketbooks and nothing for them. Johnny was their real ally. And believe it or not…every so often a rich resident seeking his or her lost fortune would come and see what good their wealth had done, and would actually donate more. One even wrote a letter in the paper thanking Johnny for stealing from him and showing him the true value of money.

To May, Johnny was a saint. He was the image of a perfect man. He never stole from anyone who couldn't afford it, he never killed any civilians or hostages, and he struck out only in self defense. He _had_ killed…but each time it had been only a person who was either going to kill him (or one of them) or be killed by him, and he truly had no choice. Even then, he actually tried to send some of his loot to their families, although each attempt had ended up with the money being invested in law enforcement to eventually apprehend Johnny.

Seeing all this, May wanted desperately to help Johnny. She wanted to do it as soon as she could. She wanted to be able to defend him from shots in the back and show him that she could help too. And so, she trained in all of her spare time. It was mostly easy stuff…gymnastics, a bit of weight training, and lots of running. Her lifestyle was a pretty good workout as it was. However, she set one particular goal for herself.

Johnny had a souvenir from his first run out. It was a rather large and rather heavy "Fisherman" anchor. He had pirated a yacht owned by a rich diplomat from Zepp, and after jettisoning the crew in lifeboats began to take it to shore. On the way, however, a small yet well armed battleship pulled alongside. It was training guns on him. The only reason it didn't shoot him down immediately was because the diplomat wanted to see if the boat could be taken in one piece. Johnny had no other weapons on board save the anchor. Not knowing what else to do, he dropped it once the other ship was in range.

If the anchor had held onto its chain, it was likely that it would have gotten tangled up, stayed on board, and left the enemy ship standing to take him down. However…the anchor's chain broke. The massive weight plunged right through the deck and sank the warship. Johnny was in the clear, and from that day on believed he had luck on his side. As soon as he could, he actually returned with another boat to the site, drew the anchor up from the wreckage of the gunboat, and kept it as a reminder of his first job.

It was this anchor, weighing nearly 300 kilograms, which May was determined to hoist. The day she could lift it, she knew was the day she would be ready to protect Johnny from anything. At the time, Johnny kind of smiled and let out a chuckle at the idea. Even he couldn't lift it unless he put everything into it. Only a muscle-bound person would be able to. But May was determined, and she took it very seriously.

Yet even she was quite a bit surprised when she, at the age of ten and scarcely any more well toned than she had been at age eight, lifted the anchor off the ground.

Johnny and the others, including new members Sephy and Octy, were stunned. Yet a slight bit of research discovered that May was a class D magic, and a good one at that. Her own magical power was being channeled into her strength, allowing the small girl to have superhuman strength. Later, May quantified this. At current, she was stronger than about eight full grown men. She could dent in steel with a strong enough punch…although it hurt quite a bit to do so. By age twelve, she lifted the anchor with ease. Jokingly, she swung it around a few times like some giant weapon. She actually swung it against one steel girder, and with the hooked side of it actually took out a large chunk. She was a bit surprised at this…but Johnny merely smiled. He told her to keep it…that it was her new weapon.

Since then, the mere sight of a small girl hoisting a massive anchor as a weapon was enough to intimidate most goons, but if they weren't they were in with a big surprise. She had knocked one poor sap a hundred yards, although luckily he was armored at the time and survived. Not long after, May began to love it. It made her feel dangerous and unique, and soon she willingly used it in every job.

Not long after, they found their airship. It was on a job raiding a military base for a silver shipment that they had taken out of a buried safe in a poor community, the government claiming "eminent domain". It made Johnny sick…that after taking everything else away from these people they took more as if they had the right. It was a tough job, but May was tough too at that point. Between her and Johnny, the first wave of guards didn't stand a chance.

The second wave, however…

They were forced to make a break for it, but the IPF already knew about them and had sent their cronies. They were blocking the way out. That was when May noticed that one of the jumbo-sized hangers was open. They tried to hide in there, or at least find a sewer access or another way out, or a place to make a last stand… Instead…they found the airship.

Armed to the teeth with cannons, large and formidable, equipped with atmospheric and gravity equalization, and enough room for a gang of their size easily to live in comfortably…it was almost too good to be true. May chalked it up to Johnny's luck, but he said it was all her that time (making her turn as red as a beet). April came through for them next, at any rate, for she had studied how to fly one of these things in her spare time on computer simulations. It was good, for the thing had more controls than a nuclear reactor. They busted out just in time. Their gang of "pirates" now had a ship.

April was still pilot, and soon a new crew member, June, served as navigator. Once here, they decided to go with a pirate motif. After all, with this new ship, the world was their ocean. They were able to expand their movement anywhere and everywhere, and it didn't take long for Novel to find a way to block them off of any radar screen and improve the ship to be even better armored and more powerful. May was the first one to cobble together an old pirate hat, put it on her head, and brandish her anchor. Johnny seemed to like this…and so, although the name of their gang stayed the "Jellyfish Air Pirates", the name of the vessel was the "May Ship".

After that, life was one endless adventure. Evading the police and the armies of the world, wrecking spectacular havoc in huge heists, living like Robin Hood's merry men (women?), and spending every day cruising around with Johnny. They were able to strike targets at land, sea, and air, and no one could stop them. They expanded their horizons now, helping communities all over the world. They even went to areas where the people were being systematically starved to death or wiped out by their governments, and were forced to hide in the wilderness to survive. They gave them food, water, and medical supplies, making them even more infamous criminals and hated by every "bad" government in the world. Johnny didn't care. He didn't think anyone had the right to kill someone like that. Yet they never took a political stance. They were for everyone, regardless of what side.

May wouldn't have given it up for anything in the world. She only really had two problems, however. One was that, despite the great time she was having, she knew that she hadn't been born into this. Perhaps recruiting March, their youngest crew member, reminded her of that. Somewhere, she had once been someone else. Someone that people had wanted. But who?

The other…was Johnny himself. What before had been a childish longing had become something far more grand, especially now that May was fourteen and filled with hormones. For years she had suspected her attraction to Johnny was something far more than just puppy love, and now it was a full blown, 24-hour crush. With this…she saw a part of herself not wanting to be the childish, eternally young girl crusading around the world. She wanted to see herself…or, more so, for Johnny to see herself…as a young woman…

Of course, thoughts like that were chased away in light of this event.

It took only an hour before May was pacing in front of the conference room table. The previous owners had used this room for military planning and strategy. Johnny had used it to plot their biggest heists before they went into action. Only now, Johnny, their beloved captain, wasn't here. May, as first mate, was now having to take charge.

Everyone else was seated around the table, looking eagerly up to her. Janis, who was really nothing more than a skunk-colored cat, took one seat to herself. No one save Johnny knew how exactly the cat had fallen in with them, but since then she was as much a member of the crew as the rest. She was long lived if nothing else… Febby was nearby, the tall busty blonde, having her small hand-held stenographer tool out. She was, after all, the record keeper, and even with Johnny gone she intended to track down all the minutes. It was the only way for her to keep calm. March was next, the pink-haired baby girl, eyes still stained with tears, looking fearfully around to the others, and clinging to her oversized stuffed penguin. April was next, shifting uncomfortably in her chair and hoping May had a solution. June, toying with one of her lavender pigtails, was nervously playing with her own sextant as she waited to begin.

On the other side of the table, July looked tough as always, digging the tip of her sword into the ground near her chair and glaring out with her one remaining eye. Again, no one was exactly sure, save for Johnny, how she lost the eye. The story changed every battle. Dark-complexioned Augus was next to her, doing her own nervous behavior by playing with a knife around the outstretched fingers of one of her hands. Good as she was, right now it didn't seem a good time for her to be playing with that… Sephy was struggling not to go hysterical again next to her, taking long, deep breaths. Octy was struggling to keep her long bangs out of her eyes long enough to see up ahead. Novel was looking as calmly as possible up to May, waiting for the word to do something next, although she had an infopad with information about Johnny's whereabouts on hand. Leap was last, chef's hat still on her head, apron still around her middle, white hair matching both, and massive arms crossed to watch what would happen.

The room was darker than usual now. Based on their arrangement and tension, it was almost like one of those old war planning rooms in the middle of enemy lines, or some sort of mass interrogation room where one of them was a rat.

May finally stopped pacing, turned around, and smacked her palms against the table.

"Alright everyone, I'm acting captain now, so here's the plan!" She announced. "We go to that Penitentiary…and we level the place! We get Johnny out and fly to freedom! Any objections?"

Sephy meekly raised a hand.

"Um, May?" She asked uncertainly. "What if we crush Johnny in the bombardment?"

Everyone looked to the girl at this, apparently sharing similar thoughts.

May hesitated a moment. She hadn't really thought of that. She thought simply of going in and tearing through every single force that stood between her and her Johnny and getting him out. She stiffened a moment, but then swallowed and composed herself.

"…Alright, then we'll go to Plan B." She continued. "We'll sweep down, drop off, charge in there and bust him out! Any objections?"

July raised her hand.

"At our best, without Johnny, we've only ever taken a hundred guards. I hear that prison has about three hundred, and they've got bulkheads to block our way. Also there's anti-aircraft guns, not to mention power neutralizers, to knock any airship out that tries a landing."

May went quiet again as everyone stared at her once more. The girl moistened her lips. Yet again, after a moment, she regained her composure once more, straightened herself up, and continued.

"Alright then…" She spoke in a much less gung-ho tone as she did when she started. "We'll obviously have to try something a bit more sneaky and indiscrete. Ok…Novel will simply hack into the power and security systems, and will shut down-"

Novel interrupted with a head shake as she looked at her infopad.

"Sorry, May. I can't do that. It runs on a central power source underneath the facility, and that's where security controls are. It'd be even harder to get there than to get to Johnny."

Again, the girl was rather deflated. Some of the crewmembers were beginning to look a bit tiredly at her. As for her, she was again at a momentary loss. Wiping a bit of her sweat from her brow, May attempted to compose herself yet again.

"Right…" She stiffly said. "Right…fine then. So…" She hesitated a moment, but then went on. "Alright, Plan D. We have one of those large boring machines on board that we used in our big water heist a few weeks ago. We'll use that. We'll tunnel underneath the soil, pop out right beneath where Johnny is, so we won't have to worry about bulkheads or-"

Febby's brow furrowed as she looked up from her machine and developed a thoughtful expression.

"I thought from the pictures on the TV that the Penitentiary was built off the coast of California on an artificial island?"

June nodded back. "Yeah. I saw that. Solid steel underneath. Even then, there's ocean trenches around it. You'd have to go several hundred feet under the sea to get there."

May sighed as she began to lose her temper.

"Ok…to hell with being discrete!" She suddenly cried. "Plan E! We'll straft the place! Alright? No wrecking the prison, no going in with guards, no anti-aircraft trouble, and Johnny gets busted out! Is that fine with everyone? Or does someone else have a complaint?"

Everyone looked around to each other for a few brief moments. No one said anything. No one voiced any concerns. It seemed that the idea went over pretty well. For a moment, May began to relax, thinking that they finally had come to something.

Then…April, very reluctantly, raised her hand.

"May…the stabilizers burned out two months ago. I won't be able to straft anything like that unless I get them fixed."

Novel looked up, and seemed to remember this. "Oh yeah! That's right!" Soon after saying this, she turned glum. "Unfortunately we still don't have the parts, and even then it'd take me a month to fix…"

May wanted to smash her head against the table. This was a lot harder than it looked like on television. She rubbed her eyes and began to let out a small groan. The others looked back to her and waited. This time, her voice sounded very unenthusiastic and tired, and she didn't look up, as she spoke again.

"…Plan F…"

* * *

Four hours later, and three crew members were asleep. Four were balancing items from their lunch trays on their noses (they had gotten hungry, and Leap walked out to make it for them, telling them to call her in if they thought of anything). The others were nodding off. May looked rather tired and haggard herself, and her hat was off. She had turned to the old white washboard behind the main spot on the table, and was drawing on it. It had been drawn on a lot in the past few hours, and had been erased frequently as well. 

"Alright…" She began tiredly. "Plan Q-21…amending Plan H-12… We were all dressed like schoolgirls in that one, remember? We go up, we beg to see him…only this time we bake March into a cake and put a cutting torch inside her penguin… When he gets the…"

Augus tiredly raised her hand, her mouth hanging open as she stared at the ceiling.

"How are we going to bake March into a cake?"

"Besides…" Octy threw in, head down on the desk, eyes shut, and bangs hanging over her face. "We already ruled against using any of us as food back at Plan Z-18, when you wanted to roast Janis and send her as a gift with a key inside, thinking the shock would let them give her to them…"

"I thought we would have stopped thinking about food after we ate…" April moaned.

"Maybe we'll start thinking about sleep…" July added.

"Plans X-5 through B-8 already involved sleeping gas in every way we could think of…" Novel murmured back.

During this entire exchange, May's face had been progressively turning redder, and her brow twitched faster and faster, as she glared at the washboard at their latest failed idea. Each one of the figures seemed to rise out of it now, coming back from being erased, and began to mock her. She could almost hear a chorus of them laughing all around her, as she grasped the erasable marker and held it tighter and tighter…until it began to crack in her grasp and leak blue ink all over her palm…

Finally, she could only do one thing.

The girl spun around, screaming at the top of her lungs, and flung her marker across the room. It smashed so hard against the opposite wall that it left a great blue stain with traces of white (from plastic). Everyone snapped to at this and wheeled around to her in surprise. However, her face was now livid with rage and frustration as she pounded her fists against the table.

"I've had it!" She screamed. "I've been at this for hours, trying to think of a plan, and I can't come up with anything! And all this time I thought Johnny had it so easy! I'm totally clueless at this captain thing! None of my ideas are even making sense anymore! I can't take it any longer! We're never going to break Johnny out!"

It took only a moment's pause, and then everyone else began to go into similar veins of depression.

"If only he hadn't wanted to get a December!" July moaned. "Then he never would have gone down there!"

"We had an unlucky number. We had to do something!" Octy retorted.

"If only that guy on the news had waited a few days to blow up the wall of the Manchurian Prison!" Sephy whined. "Then he could have escaped with the others!"

"Everyone get ahold of yourselves!" Leap finally called out. "It isn't doing any good to get like this! We aren't going to help Johnny this way!"

"Leap's right." April put in. "There _has_ to be a solution in here somewhere! Maybe we can go back to one of the old plans and think of something!"

Febby looked down to the records and flipped through them momentarily, going back four hours. When she was at the start, she shrugged. "Well…our first plan was to level the place…"

"That might work if we knew where Johnny was." Augus suggested. "Maybe one of us could get busted and go in to send a signal…"

"And if it's wrong, we kill _two_ of our team members instead of one…" June moaned.

"Guys! I got it!"

Everyone froze, snapping out of their enthusiasm, thoughtfulness, or, in May's case, hopeless depression and wheeled around to who had suddenly shouted out. It had been Novel, and she had been looking and sounding rather excited. Now, with wide-eyed earnest, she looked out to the rest of them, holding her infopad up slightly and beaming.

"We could compete in the Tournament!"

A pause went by, during which everyone looked at Novel in confusion.

"Huh?" May asked.

"That guy on the TV!" Novel went on. "The one who wants to hold that Tournament on England! He said whoever wins gets a wish! And he busted those guys out of the Manchurian Superprison! He could bust Johnny out of that jail they got in California!"

The girls hesitated for a moment. May wasn't sure exactly what they were talking about, but the others had caught parts of the shadowy man's speech when he cut off the broadcast of Johnny's arrest to start his own tirade. And they had caught that one part about the prison break. And on thinking of this, the others began to slowly look rather hopeful. May said nothing at first. She just looked around to each of them and saw their looks. After a moment, she turned to April, who was looking hopeful like the others.

"What is she talking about?"

April turned back to her. "That guy on the TV. He wants to make some Sacred Knights of the Holy Order or something… But he's hosting a tournament on England with the world's strongest fighters. Whoever wins gets to have a wish granted. And he showed what he could do after saying that. He broke open the Manchurian Superprison in China. He busted out ten criminals. He could bust out Johnny easy if he managed that."

Hearing this, May immediately brightened up. Being a bit young and scatterbrained, she immediately forgot to think about more important concerns…or what this tournament actually meant. She didn't care about any of that. She simply thought about a chance at saving Johnny. And now, after hours of hopeless thinking, this seemed like a light at the end of the tunnel.

"Well then what are we waiting for?" She brightly announced, rising to her feet and pointing out to the invisible horizon. "All hands…to England!" She proclaimed.

However, the others stayed seated and stared silently back at May. Their looks were either critical or uneasy. May continued to look out boldly…until she realized no one was acting on her orders. She looked back down to them soon after in puzzlement.

"May, this place is going to be filled with the world's strongest warriors." July explained. "If we all go there without Johnny, you and me will spend almost all our time trying to defend the others."

Sephy turned and looked hurt at this. "Hey!"

"More than that, May." April soon threw in. "They've got some pretty big cops in the IPF that'll probably be there. And we've made a lot of enemies over the years. If they're there, they'll want to either destroy the May Ship or bring us all in, especially since they have Johnny now. This guy also blew up a whole island. He could probably take down the May Ship if he wanted to bring us in for the bounties."

May hesitated at that, sweating slightly. April had a point. Moments later, however, her friend brightened up and smiled.

"But that's ok! I'll just fly you out there on the Johnny Prop!"

Now, May's eyes widened considerably. "Wha…me?" She asked in disbelief. "As in…me alone?"

She turned to the others…and found that they were all staring at her plainly.

"Of course." Febby answered.

"You're the strongest after Johnny." July added. "Maybe even stronger in some ways."

"That anchor of yours could take the top off a tank." Octy threw in.

"And you're the fastest and smartest out of all of us after Johnny." Novel added.

"If only one of us can go there, May, then it should be you." Leap finished with a nod.

May was at a loss for words, and now suddenly felt very small and afraid under the stares of all of her friends. She suddenly realized they were all looking at her, and all expected her to do this on her own. She felt ready to pass out for a moment. Alone? She had never done a mission without the others. They wanted her to go in there all by herself to tackle who knew how many sweaty, dirty, muscle-bound freaks with nothing but her shoestring muscles and her anchor? The fate of Johnny resting in her hands? The thought made her sweat and grow a bit watery kneed…

Yet then…she thought about it a bit harder. Come to think of it, she _was_ the best after Johnny. And there had been a mission or two where they had split up, and she had nearly carried her group through everything. She was stronger than men twice her size, and other class D magics she ran into had been plowed under by her anchor. She _was_ the first mate. Johnny had made her that himself. She was supposed to be the most responsible of all of them. If anyone was going to conduct a rescue of him, the fact that she was first mate meant that Johnny trusted her (the thought making her blush again) more than anyone on board.

And then…there was something else. There was the chance of saving Johnny alone. She would have been the one who beat all the other competitors, got the wish, and got Johnny free. She would have done it almost all by herself. And with that knowledge…Johnny would know that she was strong and capable. He would owe her big time. Maybe then…he would start seeing her as a young woman…

This exciting thought eradicated all doubt. May's confidence returned, and a dangerous turn went to her brow. She made a fist, and waved it in front of her menacingly and challengingly. She _would_ triumph. Because nothing in the whole wide world could stop the irresistible course of a woman in the depths of true love…

"I'll do it!"

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: Long, Beautiful Hair...


	7. Long, Beautiful Hair

**"Long, Beautiful Hair..."**

* * *

Despite being Russian by birth, Millia hated cold weather. That was one of three things she hated about being Russian, as a matter of fact. The first was being born in a place that was the world's largest icebox nine months out of the year. The Gears hadn't helped by detonating several devices over it that blotted out even more of the sun. At that certain time of year, you couldn't hope to go outside without wearing several layers of clothing. She had foolishly tried to go out with what she had on now and just and overcoat. She got frostbite. _Frostbite_, for crying out loud. All she did was go to the bar. And let there be no mistake, frostbite _hurt_. She had it all the time growing up. Some days she'd just wrap herself up in the tightest ball of warmth she could make and tried to avoid the cold. That's all you could think about if you were stuck outside in the depth of a Russian winter. 

Yet it was summer now. And though the woman thought she had permanently been chilled along the arms one year when she got through a whole winter without a coat, she relished in wearing nothing on her legs. After her loose blue and white boots, her firm, flawless legs were naked until reaching her hips, where a matching blue and white slip extended over the rest of her torso, effectively averting the perverts who would have wanted a gander at her chest. She had a high collar, and if she was ever caught in a cold snap she could bury her face in it and protect it from freezing and biting wind. Her sleeves were short, but she had another white shirt underneath that bunched up around her arms. After that, she had long black gloves covering the rest of her arms to her fingers.

Despite being very beautiful and being in a part of town where even a plain person would be hit on by some drunken bum who smelled of mushrooms, she wasn't in a very flattering position right now. Her body was stooped and hunched over on her barstool. Her face had been propped up by one of her hands so long that it seemed as if her flesh had molded around her fingers. Her eyes were nearly glazed as she stared blankly at the top of the bar. She belched once, not really caring if anyone found that unattractive…and _especially_ not caring if that made any perverts in the old bar think twice about trying a pick up line on her. Most who looked at her would think she was drunk, and they wouldn't be too far from the truth. She could still walk at this point without staggering, for she was a woman who could hold her liquor, but she was working on her tenth shot.

Moving her fingers sloppily forward, she slowly wrapped them around the glass and downed it as easily as the first nine. She slammed it down a moment later.

"Another." She stated flatly. It came out deep and long. That was the second thing she hated about being Russian. Her voice was like a male Bass compared to all of the other languages in the world. Every word was like some rich ale…full bodied and deep. Although when she spoke in Russian to another, this made her seem very deadly and very serious, speaking any other language made her sound like a man.

This dive wasn't anywhere special in Russia. Just some small town where life had reverted back to the 1800s after the Crusades, like in the rest of the country. Luckily, they hadn't thought most of the country was worth destroying. So Russia, in all of its dirty, gothic, cramped, eternally rotting solitude of gray, dull buildings smashed together against broken roads while poverty-stricken children would sell you their virginity for fifty cents at every corner remained for the world to behold. The booze was fine, at least.

The woman began to draw circles with a fingernail against the bar. As she did, the bartender, a squat little man who was badly in need of a shave and even more in need of a bath, came by and uneasily looked at her. Even if she wasn't up to number eleven, the woman had some sort of inner aura about her that was dangerous. She always had. It was the sort of thing you didn't want to be around.

At any rate, he brought up the bottle of vodka he had in hand toward her glass…

The woman instantly struck like a snake. Listless and tipsy as she seemed, her arm lashed out and wrapped around the man's, becoming a bar of steel in an instant. It clenched to be just short of painful, but kept him from spilling so much as a drop of vodka into her glass.

Her eyes darted upward…burning and dangerous.

_"Scotch."_ She nearly spat.

The bartender swallowed, and then quickly nodded. He pulled the bottle away to put it up and get the right bottle out. After a moment, the woman released, like a tiger that had a mouse in its paw and decided it wasn't worth eating, and returned her hand to making circles.

That was the third thing she hated. She had ten glasses of scotch before now, and the fool still thought she wanted vodka. Even here in her own country, the bartenders tried to serve her vodka. It was as bad here as it was in every other country on Earth. All of the bartenders must have thought Russians did nothing other than drink vodka, wear fur hats, and do those stupid little leg kicking dances. She _hated_ vodka. It tasted like urine to her only without so much lemon. Perhaps it was just her appearance. At any rate, number eleven was soon on the table and then down the hatch.

There was one thing about the woman that kept gawkers looking even when she looked like she would as soon turn their livers into pate, and that was her hair. Right now, she had a band across her brow to keep it out of her face, and another band tying it into a small tail behind her that only went down to between her shoulder blades. Her hair was legendary. It was like some dwarf had taken it to a magic spinning wheel long ago and turned it from flawless blond into glittering riches. It was smooth, perfect, and without the slightest split end or out of place strand. It was thick and flowing, soft to the touch and running through the fingers like water. There were many beautiful women in history…and each one of them would have turned green at the sight of her hair. You would almost think you could cut if off and sell it for its weight in gold.

However, Millia thought with almost a half-smile, no one ever stuck around long enough to find out that her hair was far more deadlier than her body…

The woman was about to raise her hand for another, when not one but two full shots were sat in front of her, both of them fresh.

The bartender had rematerialized in front of her, and tried to take his fear off of her by looking at her wondrous hair.

"…The gentlemen at the end of the bar."

_You're wrong, comrade. There are no gentlemen in Russia._ Millia thought back darkly. Nevertheless, she downed both shots, one after the other. She never even cast a glance to the "gentlemen". This wouldn't be the first time someone had tried to get under her skirt by buying her more drinks. They thought she'd be stupid enough to let herself get so drunk that she would walk out the door with a man twice her size and four times as hairy. Or perhaps they simply wanted to open the chance for a one night stand. Either way, Millia didn't care. There wasn't a man alive who held any appeal to her. There never had been. But so long as she got free liquor, she'd fully take advantage of their hospitality.

After taking two drinks more worth of hospitality, Millia staggered off of the chair, seeming to slump into a pile on its side but staying on her feet. She made a rather ugly sounding cough and a snort. She began to walk for the doorway before she caught herself. Mumbling a bit, she reached into her pocket, pulled out a hundred credit coin, and flipped it over to the bartender. She then went on her way. The truth was she had no idea what her tab was, but she was certain that covered it. Another truth was that she probably could have walked out without paying. She had done that before when she was half-drunk, and no one had stopped her. Nevertheless, she paid, and now made her way over to the door and shuffled outside.

She wrinkled her nose as soon as she was there. It was night now, and the chill of Spring hadn't left yet. Her breath misted slightly. There was a time to be grateful for her long sleeves. Grumbling slightly to herself, she turned and began to walk down the long dark streets to her current den. Den was so much a better word than home. It was something more temporary and unattached to. She never stayed long where she was anymore.

Millia would like to say that she was in her position because she was some poor, pitiful hard luck case. Parents murdered. Life as an orphan. Struggling to survive. Woe is me…won't you pity this poor pitiful girl with golden hair? All that crap. Yet she wasn't. She had a home once. She had a family. She had a mother and father who looked after her and loved her. And they lived fairly well for crashing in some dimly-lit slum apartment that got heat only once every other day. Even putting on a coat to go to the bathroom wasn't that bad. Her hair had made a good scarf in those days, thick as it was (although not as perfect and golden as it was now), and she grew it long to make use of it. She had lots of equally poverty stricken friends, and she grew up how many Russians who went on to live successful lives lived.

Only thing was her parents weren't the typical family. Her dad was. Slaved in some factory uptown, slowly killing his fingers every day to and from. She never did figure exactly what he was making that gave him such health problems and sent him back to her nearly stained black every day. Her mother, however, was another matter. She was a member of the local Russian branch of the Assassin Syndicate. She wasn't the best in the world at it (which explained their financial standing), but she was decent enough to make them money, and her service ensured they'd never get kicked out of the apartment even if they were two months late on the rent.

Millia never knew who her mother had killed…if she had some conscience about her targets. It wasn't a healthy thing for most assassins to have. The number one rule was to kill your conscience and kill it quick. Anyone who was a target automatically was a number or a name and nothing more. Yet Millia realized she had to have retained at least part of her soul. She wouldn't have married her father and had her if she didn't. And in that way, Millia envied her. She wished in that regard she could have been like her.

Eventually, the factory killed Millia's father. The place was two accidents a week, and her father happened to be in the one fatal one they had a month. Even then, she realized she was unnaturally blasé to the whole thing. Her father hadn't been a deadbeat or cruel or abusive…and yet she just took it. Perhaps it was an omen of what her life would be like in the future, but she only shed a few tears at the funeral. When she did start to feel genuine emotion coming out, something told her to keep it in. She ended up showing about as much sadness as you would for a distant uncle.

Millia's mother wasn't that high in the Syndicate, but they took care of their own no matter the standing. A visit to the factory owner ensured that they'd get six months of pay, and the funeral expenses were taken care of. Yet money couldn't fix anything. That was a lesson Millia learned then and was reminded of time and time again before it sank in. Her mother was never the same. She was still loving, but she was depressed. It made her sloppy four months later. She got the target, but she tipped a dozen alarms. The cops shot her down from behind.

Again, another strange thing happened. It wasn't just due to Millia's small amount of sadness and bottling up her emotions again…but the thoughts she had. The part that made her the angriest about her mother's death was that she was shot in the back. If you were going to be man enough to end another's life, the least you could do was look them in the eye as you killed them.

Millia was about thirteen at the time. Too old to be a helpless urchin on the street, but too young to get a job yet. Her best bet would be prostitution. However…the Syndicate in those days looked out for you. Say whatever you will, but they did. They took her in as if they were already her extended family. Some of the coldest killers patted her on the head and gave her their condolences. A woman who tricked dozens of men and women into getting intimate with her and then used a razor blade behind her tongue to finish them gruesomely hugged her like she was a big sister and sang her a song she had heard when her own mother died. That was another big lesson Millia learned. Most criminals, and assassins, were able to conveniently place their souls on one side during work. But there were times when they willingly took it up again, or rather had a circumstance bring it out again. The biggest time was with children. One of them taught her a great lesson that day…if you get to the point where you can kill a child without batting an eye, you're not an assassin anymore. You're not even a murderer. You're a monster. And you might as well do the world a favor, blow your brains out, and go down to Hell where they keep the rest of the monsters.

As Millia turned a corner to take a shortcut through an alley, rather than walk the way around, she remembered how dark and dank her new home had been. It hadn't really been a home. Just a halfway house for those like herself. There was where she spent the next five years along with an older assassin named Lauper. She was getting a bit seasoned and only had nine fingers and one eye, but in her own way she was a charming woman. She was the one who set Millia on her way to "learning a trade". And since her mother had been one, it was typical what the trade would be.

Some of it was easy. Some of it was downright sadistic. The easy parts were just basic weight training, athletics, and running. The sadistic parts included tasks like tying a noose around her neck and kicking a chair out from under her about ten times in a row so that she'd learn the hard way how to escape in a desperate situation from your neck being broken, your blood supply being cut to your head, and choking. Or the time she was locked in a black closet for three months, with barely any food or water. She had lost her mind several times in there before she felt she didn't have a mind left to lose. Lauper had to nurse her for two weeks before she remembered how to talk again when she came out. Then there was the test where Lauper disassembled two handguns with rubber bullets and put them in front of them both. She blindfolded herself and Millia and put her in front of one, saying she had better put it together before she did, or she was dead. It wasn't until the first of four rubber bullets bounced off of her breastbone that she realized the rounds had never been live. She honestly thought she would die that day. And, of course, the punching bag drills…the ones that were filled with metal rods and shavings. Your hands looked like raw steak by the time you were done, but you beat the bag for sixty minutes straight or Lauper would boil some water in the tub and dunk you ten times for one minute each, giving you exactly one second to get a breath between each one.

Lauper told her she wasn't the first one she had done this with. But she was amazed at Millia and how she took to it. One girl had tried to cut her throat when she slept to keep her from doing any more to her. She learned the hard way, to the tone of a broken forearm, that Lauper slept on pins and needles everywhere. You had to if you wanted to be a true assassin. Yet Millia never complained. She was worn out, yes. She was beaten and tired. Some times she was driven hysterical. But she never complained. Even now…Millia's inner self told her she had to endure these things.

Slowly and surely, Millia was being trained to feel no pain, pity, or fear of death. At least…not when she didn't need to. These drills were designed to make her so tough and steely that she could be braiding her hair if she was being raked in Satan's teeth. And they worked. In addition to turning her body into a living muscle, and learning how to use her limbs deadlier than any weapon, Millia grew to where she would indeed feel no pain until she was done with her task. She didn't fear the sight of death no matter how gruesome and horrid. And no pity ever kept her from acting when she had to.

She was still living with Lauper when the Assassin Syndicate decided to try her out at the age of eighteen. They made it easy. The guy was a drug dealer. He had poisoned countless kids on Russia's streets, and had killed ones he hired as drug runners when they weren't able to get there in time, usually because of drugs he himself had given him. The guy was rather strong and carried a gun on him at all times, but easy wasn't referring to his ability to defend himself. It was referring to how the world would react to seeing his loss. The truth was he would not be missed. If it wasn't Millia on the payroll of his superior mob bosses wanting to get rid of him for being sloppy, it would be the police or some disgruntled employee.

Deep in her heart of hearts…Millia was scared. Not because of him…but because she knew that she could have done a good job on one that _would_ have been missed.

What she hated was how she had to do it. She played the role of a whore. Until that time, men had often leered at her. She was rather beautiful, after all, and her training had only made her more shapely and lovely with time. She had never felt a man's inferior, knowing she could kill them with a single foot if she wanted to. Yet when she saw that she had to become a piece of meat to him…that was the end. She had to restrain herself long enough to get in close enough to finish him cleanly. Until that point, she wanted to beat him to death, not caring that it would have given him ample time to call for help or let others see an assassin at work (and in those days, they'd kill a greenhorn if they got their face recognized, because they weren't worth defending at that point family or no family). She felt like such an ugly, horrible creature when he looked at her like that… She vowed never to love a man after that kill…and vowed never to take any jobs where she had to play a "whore".

She lived with Lauper for the next two years, through her "journeyman" stage. She could have left earlier, but she thought of Lauper as a second mother. The woman had given her rough trials, but she herself was a kind and interesting person. And emotionless as she was, Millia would not hesitate to say that if she had any wish it would be to have her mother and father back. She just didn't show her sadness that much. They were pretty good friends too. They shared a lot of their day-to-day lives, although they never talked about their jobs. That was another rule…you just didn't. Millia was a natural born killer. There was no two ways about it. She was soon the best class E magic they had, which basically meant she was the best "normal" assassin they had.

She was progressively assigned more and more advanced clients. Not one job that she did was "nice", but the Syndicate in those days was as "decent" as crime could be. No bombs were ever used. Bombs killed innocents. Most of the jobs were crime lords or people as corrupt as crime lords, just with more "stainless public images". Millia was given a few where she had to kill potentially decent people…but luckily she had the option of "warning" killings before that. Usually you found some beloved pet to do that on. If not, you could find some real thug and do such a number on him that his appearance was enough to scare into submission. Millia did a great job on both, enough to ensure that she never had to shove her conscience too far away. Again…the scary part was that she didn't feel any qualms about going to that length if she had to…

Or perhaps she had. At that point, she was getting tired of living with Lauper. It wasn't her, she claimed, but the conditions. She wanted to move up a bit more in the world and through the Syndicate. She was good enough, and so she applied for really high profile jobs, ones that meant lots of money and prestige.

To her surprise, she was turned down flat. The go-between apologized like a good little corporate monkey, but informed her that these jobs weren't for class Es. The best assassins in the Syndicate were ones that possessed magical powers. Millia was very talented for being able to kill quickly and easily with only using her body as a weapon, but magical assassins could act even quicker and more silently. She had hit a glass ceiling.

For the second time in her life, Millia was genuinely furious. She had put in more sweat, blood, and tears than half of the magical assassins, but because they were blessed with an extra inert ability they were getting the big bucks. It was an insult. It was as bad as the unfair system of haves and have-nots she had grown up under. She wouldn't stand for it. She believed she deserved a chance as much as the rest of them. But no matter how keenly she honed her technique, or how neatly or silently she did her jobs, the rule stood firm. Millia was doomed to be in the lower class of the underworld.

She still remembered the night she had angrily ranted in front of Lauper, the first time she had ever done so in her life. Lauper leaned back and heard it all…the whole time looking at the ground and seeming to consider something…wondering if she should talk about it. Millia noticed this and knew what the look meant, and she pried for it. And in the end…Lauper had spilled the beans about the Hi-Deigokutsuipou…

"Hey lady."

Millia's thought chain was broken by this. Still looking sullen, she turned to see who had spoken to her.

In training, Millia had used to practice catching knives thrown at her head from behind. However, this training had taken place when she was sober, and even she couldn't take that much liquor and be unaffected and unslowed. Hence, she was only able to see the small drop-like vial of liquid spiral through the air for a moment before impacting on her scalp. The instant it did…it burst into flame and lit her head on fire.

Pain immediately shocked Millia out of her daze as burning hot agony surrounded her golden mane. Staggering and stunned, she reached for her head, amazingly not screaming but still thrashing about in misery. Distracted by this…she was helpless as they came in on her. Two huge men came in at the side and beat her in the stomach. Muscular as it was, she wasn't invulnerable, and they were obviously class Ds from how hard it hurt. A slap went across her face, hard enough to send some blood flying from her nose, even as she kept burning. Another came forward through the flames around her vision, and something cold and metal slammed around her neck.

As blows continued to work her over, with a few kicks thrown in, Millia's body became dead weight. Immediately, it seemed to weigh thousands of pounds and went dead. Everything below her neck became motionless. Despite the pain she felt from the burning and the blows, she recognized what had happened to her. It was a magical device, a collar that robbed its wearer of all nervous control below the place it was fastened. It was supposed to be used to restrain problem targets or transport prisoners. The underworld, in particular the more unsavory types, often used it for something else… However, this thing was expensive. Mere hoods, or even average assassins, didn't carry it…

After being knocked to the ground, the two heavy men yanked her up and slammed her hard against the alley wall. She couldn't stand anymore with the collar on. Her body was aching, and she felt numerous bruises rising from around it. Yet she had absorbed much of the pain from endurance training, and she took the other hits without so much as a sharp exhale of air. Her scalp hurt the most, but that was dying down. It seemed as if her hair was too thick to completely burn, although at this point she was down to the scalp in some places and only three inches long in others. It was black and smoldering now, no longer beautiful or flowing in the least.

Her eyes still moved, and so she looked to the sides. Big muscular men, each with foul breath, holding her shoulders so tightly it felt like they were in clamps. They were grinning over her, no doubt loving the fact that their fingers were brushing past her breasts. Then she looked in front of her. A much thinner man. However…she knew him immediately. She wasn't sure if she had seen him before, but she recognized the type as an assassin from the Syndicate.

She knew him by the manner. He was smiling like a fox now, and moving casually and calmly as he placed a cigarette in his thin mustached mouth and lit it. Feeling he was completely in control of the situation, and that Millia's life was totally in his hands as had been the case with dozens of other lives. Not worried in the least anymore. It made Millia want to puke. All of the assassins looked this way now. They lorded their ability to kill over others. They didn't dispatch them quickly now. They took their time, stroking their own sadistic pleasures. The old Syndicate killed and that was it. Now jerks like this who enjoyed torturing to death were running the show. And as he chuckled slightly over his prize, beginning to use his "superiority" over her, Millia knew exactly why she was wearing this collar instead of being hog tied.

"As you can see, Mrs. Rage…" He smoothly addressed as he dragged from his cigarette and replaced his lighter, thinking he was some sort of suave untouchable when he was really just a greasy haired twit. "We knew all about your secret weapon. And I'm authorized…in fact _paid_…to tell you just how we knew. The last message you're supposed to get in your life is that Zato-1 always repays his debts."

Until now, Millia's half-drunk mind had focused all of its hatred on the man and his assistants who were nearly drooling over her. However, on hearing that…she forgot completely about her situation. The collar, the burns, the bruises, the alley…each one vanished into nothingness and mattered nothing to her. For one of the few times in her life, her eyes widened in surprise and her mouth dropped. She immediately ran over in her brain what she had just said…and felt deep inside her gut the stimulus that was the only thing left in this world that caused her fear.

"W…What did you say?" She found herself stammering like a typical helpless victim.

"I'm saying that Zato-1 is back in town, and you're number one on his hit list." The man sneered in response as he made his way forward. "Now he wants to make you a nice little example to anyone else who thinks of crossing him again. He told us about the hair, so now I'm afraid you're nice and helpless." He grinned a bit wider here as he was nearly to Millia. "But it'd be an awful waste to kill you right now…and I want something back for those drinks…"

Millia ignored this. She couldn't believe it. It wasn't possible. And yet…he was the only one who knew about her hair who was still alive. These losers would never have figured it out on their own. No one else had seen it and lived. But there was no way back from where she had sent him. He couldn't have come. Then again, he did have Eddie. And there was no telling what Eddie could do when he put his mind to it… Could he actually have come out again?

_Later, Millia. Take care of this scum first._

By now, the two bigger ones were breathing down Millia's neck, making her grateful for her collar. They were shifting their hands over her chest. The lean one was flashing a grin as he came closer, probably wanting to stroke her skin before he got to it. Seeing this helped awaken her assassin side. It shook out more of the liquor in her system and helped her focus. She was even able to push the idea of Zato-1 being back out of her head. Her face lost its fear, and her eyes narrowed and became dark.

"I have very bad news for you boys…" She finally told them in icy Russian. Her teeth clenched. Although all three of them believed she was now their toy, it was only because they weren't smart enough to look more closely at her. If they did, they would see that they were looking at a woman who was about to kill them all, and she felt absolutely no doubt about her capability to do so.

"Zato-1 must have not liked you more than me, and wanted to make _you_ the true example of incompetence in the Syndicate. Otherwise he would have come himself…or at least told you something else about my hair."

The skinny man continued to grin, blasting foul air in Millia's face, as he reached up to touch her cheek. Yet as he did…he stopped in his tracks. He turned into a statue as his face paled and his smile disappeared. The cigarette dropped from his mouth.

The roots of Millia's hair had suddenly turned golden and blond again. And they continued to turn that way and soon lengthen…as Millia's hair rapidly and instantly began to blossom out of her scalp again, like grass growing in fast motion. It didn't matter that it had been burned down to the root in some places. It still sprouted forth, and in moments it was already three feet long.

The two big ones noticed hair slowly extending over their hands…and stopped what they were doing. Their faces went blank as they stared up to Millia's scalp, and saw how hair was still growing out of it. Their own faces turned white and their mouths hung open as they saw the impossible.

That was all Millia ever let anyone see.

An instant later…and one lock on either side of her hair turned into a razor-sharp, perfectly rigid spike that lunged out and impaled both big men through the skull. At the exact same time, the rest of her hair lashed out, whipped around the skinny assassin's neck, and tightened. However, she wasn't going to let this man choke to death. She might have if she truly wanted him to suffer…but his mere existence disgusted her. And so, an instant later, her hair shifted and proceeded to crack his neck. He went limp instantly.

More hair lengthened all the way past her shoulder blades, below her rear end, under her knees, and all the way to the ground. Once there, it flattened out and became rigid, holding her up as her muscular supports went limp. She now had all three assassins, dead in the grip of her new head of glorious golden hair. The hair itself was no longer just some pretty amount of sparkling flax. It was alive and moving, like some sort of amoeba or octopus had grafted itself to Millia's skull.

She moved again in a second. Both bloody spikes ripped out of the men's skulls, letting them collapse in dead heaps on the ground. While both locks flicked themselves hard, scattering the blood off of them, the hair before her released the dead assassin, went to the collar on her neck, and easily seized it and ripped it off. Her legs and body had movement again…and a bit more pain from her beating. She weathered it, and drew her hair back into herself. As easily as it had grown, it now shortened, moving back into its previous length. Shifting a bit due to soreness, Millia raised her body off of the wall and moved slowly back on down the alley. This time, it was due to pain and not drunkenness. As she did, she reached to her side, pulled out a fresh blue hair band, and reached up to tie her hair back again. The hair obliged her by becoming rigid and long, easy to slip a band over.

Millia officially changed her last name to "Rage" when she started her assassin career at age 18. Most knew her as Millia Rage. A few called her "the Blonde Russian". But only among the closest circles, and then many of them not knowing why, was she known as "Millia of the Hair".

Lauper had been nervous about telling her about the Hi-Deigokutsuipou, better known as the Six Forbidden Magics. Yet she did in the end out of affection. As the name implied, these magics were of a kind forbidden by the old Sacred Order of Holy Knights and by most other organizations, no matter how dark, as well. They required immense personal sacrifice to master. Millia herself sacrificed the part of her she knew she would never need… She didn't fear them. She wanted this power. All she needed to know was that even a low-level magic could earn the power of the Six Forbidden Magics, and that in doing so they would gain powers the likes of which no one else had ever seen. She considered this her big chance.

It took four years of training, during which she had no time for assassinations and barely enough time to eat or sleep. Each session of eating and sleeping meant losing ground on mastering the magic, and having to redo it the next day. She was thankful to Lauper again for allowing her to stay in the room and keeping her fed as she struggled to master it. She was afraid for her clearly, and Millia realized just the extent of how much she cared for her then. She was very grateful, and wished to this day she could have showed it more through this time when she cared only about mastering her power.

Yet after the four years, the power of the sixth forbidden magic, "Angra", was hers. She saw the results immediately when she mastered it. She opened her eyes after hours of deep meditation…and calmly watched as her hair extended itself over to the light switch and turned it on.

That was the first time in her life, she, as a woman, could say she was obsessed with her hair. It was well worth the four years of work to her. At first it acted only as a single arm, reaching out, wrapping around things, and bringing them to her. Yet she soon learned that it could break into multiple appendages and lash around the limbs of an entire room. It lengthened or shortened at the slightest thought, even when, as the assassins had discovered the hard way, it was cut or burned. It could slough itself off if it grew too frayed or dirty and regrow, making shampoo, conditioner, and hair stylists a thing of the past. It could flatten itself out and become rigid like a sheet or sharpen itself into something as strong as steel. It was as good as any blade, able to pierce anyone it couldn't disarm. She even could brace her body with it and extend her hair into wings, enabling her to glide off a rooftop or anywhere else she needed to leave in a hurry. It could become as soft and fluffy as a blanket, or as hard as high-tension wire. It could go out well past her feet, enabling her to tie up several people by having her hair weave itself into ropes, or could spread it over her body for insulation if she was stuck somewhere cold. It thinned itself out automatically when she was hot or thickened itself if she was chilly. It conformed into shapes of keys or tools when she needed to do something fine. She could even lace it around her body and make it weave itself to become as strong as Kevlar, making her immune to bullets. It was an all-in-one tool.

With hair like that, it took no time at all for Millia to be allowed into the higher assignments. She prospered. She had an expensive apartment for a while. She bought herself only the finest foods and liquor. She could have all of her clothes custom designed and she surrounded herself with fine art and literature. Nothing could stand against her hair. There wasn't any job where her hair didn't bail her out. If she had to scale a wall, her hair simply whipped out, lashed around something, and dragged her over. If she had to charge through a fire, the hair made itself thick and layered and protected her like fireman's clothing. If she had to go under the water, the hair wove itself over her mouth and became a perfect filter, keeping water out but straining it for oxygen to feed to her. She became one of the most famous assassins in the Syndicate. With her and her mane, she was unstoppable.

It seemed inevitable that this wouldn't last.

It started with malaise. Despite surrounding herself with luxury and everything that a person could want…her long dormant conscience began to come out. Before, she hadn't seen it when she was barely getting by in slums. Now that she was wealthy…she began to see them. Every time she lay down to sleep, she saw upright corpses impaled by her hair at her four posts. Every time she admired her art, she could see people with necks broken from her wrapping her hair around their throats. Every time she tried to eat, she saw their body parts, torn asunder by her hair… Even though the hair cleaned itself after every kill, and she could command it to shed and regrow, she found herself washing her hair vigorously after every mission…and then starting to cut it off herself…before she began burning it.

She knew her high lifestyle came at the price of other's lives. For years she told herself they deserved it, and at this stage she could afford to be selective about her targets. Yet that wasn't working anymore. Who was she to say these people were good or bad? What was the standard? Had they killed a few of their employees? Were those deaths accidents? What about her? How many had _she_ killed? Did she meet her own standard for deserving to die?

Lauper died when she started thinking these things. It wasn't on the job…she had just been injured too many times in the past. More of her old friends were dying out. They were being replaced by a new generation that had never known what it was like to feel afraid or abandoned, by the Gears if nothing else. These ones weren't doing this for money or because they were natural born killers. They did it because they enjoyed to make others suffer. They didn't do clean jobs, and they didn't make their deaths painless. They drew them out and relished in them. They also stole their money sometimes (something a "decent" assassin never did), and sometimes had "fun" with them before they killed them… It disgusted Millia…but not so much as the fact that she began to wonder if, in the grand scheme of things, she really was in a position to give them chagrin. After all…did the world see her as any better?

Then she started having dreams. Dreams that her hair was wrapping around her own neck and turning into a hangman's noose. She would wake up just as she was being choked, and she would order it off of her…and it would not do it. Sometimes she dreamed it was cutting her up and disemboweling her. Again, it never obeyed her orders to stop. It didn't speak…but she thought she heard it telling her, "This is why you brought me to life. This is my purpose. I'm a natural born killer, just like you. It's in my nature. I can't stop my nature. Can you?"

Millia began finding herself dropping jobs. She ordered her hair to stay off of her, walking around bald some days. But she couldn't stop it. When she slept, her subconscious mind told it to grow back. And when she looked in the mirror and saw it there…she almost felt her bravery cracking.

Ironically, what happened next caused her to refocus her energies, and probably spared her insanity.

A new assassin was rising in the ranks. He called himself Zato-1. He was from the Spanish branch, but at the time Europe was becoming one major Syndicate. Millia worked with him a few times. She hated him. He was twice as slimy and cocky as that assassin she had killed just now. He was twice as sadistic as anyone else with those he stopped. In fact…that was why Millia had worked with him. She wanted to stop him. He complied due to seniority…but what scared Millia for the first time she remembered was that he was never afraid of her, not even with her hair. Even one time when she wrapped her hair around his throat because he wouldn't obey her commands to just kill a woman and not rape her…he just smiled back at her, not the slightest bit afraid. He looked at her with that same stare, as if to say… "If I wanted, I could make you sob and cry and moan just like this bitch. I could make you _beg_ me to kill you."

That was the only man that Millia had ever truly hated…and truly feared. She found herself entertaining thoughts that were unhealthy for assassins to have…the thought of an accident happening in a mission…of one of her spiked strands of hair going to Zato-1's temple by "mistake"… Yet before she could act on this impulse, something far more horrible happened. Only now did Millia truly believe that the Six Forbidden Magics should have stayed forbidden…if only so that people like Zato-1 would never dabble in them.

The official magic that Zato-1 embraced was the fifth, "Shokusei Kagejin". He gave up his eyes to learn it. Not only that, but he didn't just make himself a weapon. He somehow managed to get ahold of something pure evil…something he simply called, "Eddie". _That_ became his weapon.

Eddie was as ruthless as him. When the two were together, it only fed their wickedness. Zato-1 had always relished in being a sadistic psychopath. Eddie allowed him to do things they didn't even have names for. Some of Zato-1's clients disappeared…and he would come back saying, "Eddie had a good meal last night". Some of the bodies were unrecognizable and horrifying even to the most ruthless assassins. Some were tortured in unspeakable ways. But through it all…Zato-1 became the best of the best. He even became better than Millia…which scared her more than ever. She went on a single mission with Zato-1 and "Eddie". She never went again. That thing…_mortified_ her…in ways none of her other sins or nightmares could.

Worse happened. Zato-1 was now the best…and so he was up for promotion. It wasn't long before he ceased being a peon in the service and became the head of the Assassin Syndicate. And under him…all hell broke loose. He filled the Syndicate with lunatics and psychos. People like Millia vanished. She didn't stop at that time…because she found that she couldn't. Just as he dreams had told her, this was who she was. Only now, surrounded by horrible graphic death, she was terrified of that aspect of herself. These weren't assassins. They were serial killers. They were as sloppy as could be, and wanted to kill each other as badly as their targets. They only were effective because people were terrified about what they could do to them. And despite being the head, Zato-1 only continued his reign of bloodlust. He enjoyed death as much as the Devil himself.

The straw that broke the camel's back was when she got the story back about Zato-1's latest mission.

He had killed the man himself…and fed his three children to Eddie.

After that, Millia realized it was over. She couldn't walk the line anymore. She couldn't live like this anymore. Her soul was back with a vengeance, and it wouldn't let her. The organization had become monsters, and she either had to flee or help them.

No one just "quits" a criminal organization. There was no way to make sure that they never would go to the police. That was why you either stayed in for life, or you took your own on the day you wanted to retire. Millia planned on neither. She had a desire to live. She knew it would mean being hunted for most of the rest of her life…perhaps the rest of it…but if it was the price of what was left of her soul, then so be it. She had lived sleeping with one eye open long before this. She knew how to watch her own back at all times. It was the part of her that she could keep to quell the killer instinct within her. But she wouldn't stay with them.

All of her assets were set up to be liquidated. She put as much money as she could into a Swiss bank account. She'd never be able to work again. This was the only thing she could do, and so she would have to settle for doing nothing for the rest of her life. She did this all quickly. She couldn't liquidate everything in the end. She had to do everything on one day. Anymore, and they'd see and stop her. Secondly…she had to clean house before she left.

By "cleaning house", that meant that she essentially had to kill any assassin who might conceivably be a threat to her in the future before leaving. None of the typical fare were a threat…but she unfortunately knew that she would never be able to lie down and sleep again if Zato-1 was still alive. Luckily, this was one target she looked forward to killing…

It wasn't hard to put out a phony contract, and fill it with the prospect of lots of lives to kill. It attracted Zato-1 like a moth to a flame to an apartment that Millia rented. Once he was there…she should have killed him. She should have stabbed him in the back while he was still wondering where she was. But he knew better and so did she. She wasn't going to kill a person unless she was looking in their eyes. Unfortunately, he was far less scrupulous…and with Eddie he didn't need eyes to see. She still had nightmares about his opening move. That thing…tried to _eat_ her alive…

Both of them fought for an hour. Neither of them made much headway on the other. However, in the end, it was becoming clear that despite their weapons of choice, Eddie was as violent and ravenous as his master. Millia's hair was just that…hair. One of their weapons shared a desire to bathe in blood, and it soon began to get an edge on Millia. She started to realize she wasn't going to prevail. Zato-1 began to toy with her soon after, and she realized he was getting started on a long, slow torture that would end with her death…

However, Millia had expected that.

The woman had never been able to master the same magic that the Sacred Order had managed, but she had managed to spend about half of her assets buying a device that was meant to be used to seal away lower leveled Gears in dimensional prisons. Her hair had tucked it under her ponytail and hidden it for most of the fight. She waited until she was on the ground, and Zato-1 was moving in to cause her more suffering… Then she suddenly sprung to life, and her hair flung the device at him. Just as he should have, Zato-1 called Eddie to come over and catch it. That was his fatal mistake.

Soon it opened. Millia wasn't able to accurately describe what happened next, but it was as if the universe, time, and space were like some giant bathtub, and something had poked a hole in it to start letting reality flow out into some other oblivion. It sounded as if the light in the room itself was being drawn into the hole. However, Eddie was closest, and he was first to go in. That was perfect. The truth was, mighty as Zato-1 had become…he needed Eddie more than Eddie needed him. He dove in after the creature, and soon reality slammed shut again. Zato-1 was trapped in some oblivion like so many other Gears.

She rose, used her hair to make bandages for her wounds, turned, and walked out of the room. She hadn't looked back since.

She had to give up a large part of who she was to keep her conscience. She lived in quiet isolation mostly. She moved all over the world, never staying in the same city for more than a week. That was how long it took for a vengeance seeking assassin to come up and try and kill her. Ironically, she had to be grateful for having someone to kill every week. Death and bringing death had been so much a part of her life for so long she would have committed suicide soon after breaking out of the Syndicate if it wasn't for them. She didn't do much else. She mostly just drifted, usually in and out of bars, sometimes in and out of bookstores…trying to find a place for a natural born killer when she could no longer prey in her jungle, but had to confine herself to her own personal zoo. And just like a predator, she found herself spending her days eating, drinking, and mostly sleeping.

However…it seemed as if this life was going to change soon.

Millia made it to her apartment. She walking a bit faster now, now that she had a true purpose. The liquor, despite its volume, had nearly disappeared from her system. The outer building was fractured and old, a large section of the roof missing and having never been repaired. The sound of plastic flapping in the wind came from it, and this too was old and wearing out. Once she was inside the building, she quickly went up five flights of stairs through darkened, grimy, unused hallways stained black with soot. She went to her door, actually paused long enough to get the key out, undid the lock, and went in.

She took a moment to go through the proper checkups to make sure that one hadn't placed a bomb in her apartment, yet she knew it wasn't necessary. She had been right about those goons. If Zato-1 was behind this, then he had sent them to be killed by her, not the other way around. He himself would want revenge for what she had done to him… She thought of stories about those dimensional prisons. They were awash in nothingness…where there was no sound or sights or smells or anything. It was like being sentenced to solitary confinement, only far worse. And Zato-1 had been in there two years… The fact that he could still function after coming out meant that he had to have been focused on her…and thinking of getting revenge somehow…

Yes, staying here would not be safe. It was no matter. She had money stashed away in her account. She could move anywhere. But there was nowhere she could go that would be safe from him. Eventually, he'd come for her. And she wasn't going to wait to be walking alongside some shadow one day and have the last thing she see be Eddie's teeth.

No…she had to do what she should have done two years ago. It was because of her that he existed. She was the one who made him envy her power and practice that technique. And even if it wasn't, this was the only way she'd ever be safe again.

In two minutes, Millia had packed up everything of value that she wanted, turned, and walked out the front door. She had to get out of Russia tonight. Then as soon as she set Zato-1 thinking of where she was going to land next, she'd think of a way to find him and kill him first.

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: The Colossus...

BTW, Lauper comes from 80's rocker Cyndi Lauper.


	8. The Colossus

**"The Colossus"**

* * *

A rifle butt tapped against Potemkin's back. 

"Move." He was ordered.

The giant man proceeded to slowly turn his head, like a bear that had just been flicked by a puny human, and leveled his glare against the guard. His own monstrous, unnaturally colored eyes pierced his. His mountain of muscle appeared to grow even larger. Despite the fact that his life was in the guard's hands…he believed the man wet himself as all thoughts of ever tapping him with a rifle butt again were instantly and irrevocably purged from his mind.

Potemkin was sure that whoever was his jailor didn't approve of that…but to hell with him. Like he cared what he thought. He could allow his life to be the property of a military officer, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let some twiggy peon, whose skull was small enough for him to literally grind into dust in the palm of his hand, boss him around. After showing him who was the _real_ boss here, he turned and did as he was motioned. He walked through the now open doorway into the next room.

Anyone who looked at the man-mountain that came in through the doorway, each step of his rattling the floor despite having a half dozen devices ensuring that nothing could upset it, would find it hard to believe that he was even a man. Even the largest bodybuilders in history never possessed the sheer amount of muscle that this gigas possessed. His form was more like that of a monstrous gorilla (despite the fact that they had been extinct for well over a hundred years by now) than a human. His legs were at least merely hulking, but still humanly possible. The biggest leg weightlifter in history might also possess them. He was able to find a pair of old, worn-out boots and extra-large jeans within the slave stock to wear over them at any rate. One of the typical belts that looped above and below that could function as a slave harness was there as well.

Above that, however, there wasn't a strip of stock-made cloth that could possibly cover his massive body. Rippling over with contours of each individual muscle, each one as hard as a rock, Potemkin was like a giant made of stone set upon legs. His body was thick with it. He was nearly three feet across in some places. Not around…_across_. His massive forearms were bigger than basketball hoops. His head, the only normal-sized piece of his oversized frame, was set in a way to actually be slumped over a bit by all of his muscle, looking like it was nearly growing from his chest rather than on top of it all. Only when he stood up straight, and revealed his full seven-and-a-half-foot height, did it stand normally on his shoulders.

His hands were the most unnatural. One would think his muscle would taper off as it went back down to his normal-sized hands. It didn't. With fingers fully outstretched, his grip was _four feet long._ Each one of his finger bones were thicker around than a human femur. His own head could fit in the palm of his hand easily. Yet despite how big these were, this actually bore clothing. Black fingerless gloves (skin-tight, but more from Potemkin's size than anything else), and even larger red metal gauntlets on top of them. These had been given to him earlier that day. He always got them for missions.

Only one other thing stood out on his bronzed skin…and that was a large, thick, metal collar around his neck with two cylinders hovering just in front of his carotids and jugulars. His sole pleasure in wearing this was that it took two weeks before they could specially make one this size…

He had to pass through three more doors before he finally reached his destination. Along the way, there were progressively more guards. Most of them had weapons. Some of them, however, were obviously specialists in magic or other arcane talents. There were also turrets and other security countermeasures. Each one trained on him, as if they were trying to choke out any desire to flee. They didn't have to worry, however, The collar was enough to make Potemkin stand his ground for the time being. Yet if he ever had the chance to break it…

Eventually, he went into the interior. It was nothing special. All of the floors were metal, just as everywhere else. The walls were red metal although they opened to have windows outside. Of course, this was from an area that no one could possibly snipe the interior. The view was simply of the sky outside…not blue and clear as is should have been this high in the air but grimy and gray from the constant furnaces and industries that were eternally operating on Zepp. Only an airborne attack could hope to hit this area now, and there were hundreds of anti-aircraft batteries surrounding the building to make sure that couldn't possibly happen. There was even more surrounding the country on all sides. Besides, if a plane did make it this far, why just try to snipe the leader through the window? Why not bomb the entire administration building? Or while you were at it, why not go for the support engines and destroy everything else on Zepp too?

That would almost be a blessing to most of the people. It would almost be worth death to see the look on the High Administrator's face before he died.

The "Floating Continent Zepp" was hardly a continent. It barely even met the "size requirements" for a country. Still, it was quite impressive and a marvel of modern technology to see a country flying over the ocean morning, noon, and night. Zepp was a grand total of 2,000 square miles, about twice the size of the old tiny nation of Luxembourg. Yet it took an immense amount of power and ingenuity to keep an area of ground that size flying in the air. Potemkin wouldn't pretend to believe he knew how it was done. Most on Zepp probably didn't know how they were able to keep in the sky. He did know that there were very large propellers attached to very large engines above and below the country at regular invervals. He also knew those weren't enough, and that something with harnessing the power of the Earth's own magnetic nature had something to do with keeping it aloft.

Potemkin wasn't sure who had first built this nation. It had been in the works during the Crusades. Whoever had built it may have had some sort of fantasy vision of living on some continent in the sky. He had to have gotten a lot of followers as well, and even more materials. Perhaps they had called it Zepp even then before they had put it up, thinking of it as some giant Zepplin. At any rate, it took years to build. And before they had it take off they were already of a more militaristic nature. He supposed that was the way it had to be in those days. With Gears destroying countries left and right, you couldn't afford to be soft or meek. Yet eventually, they had managed to take it off.

It must have been awe-inspiring at first. Seeing that massive body of metal rise above the ground and start flying. It could go up to 10,000 feet when the pilots wanted it to, regardless of whether it was over land or ocean. It could travel almost anywhere in the world too, save into mountain regions. At the time, perhaps it represented something more. Perhaps it was that mankind could continue to grow and thrive despite all that had happened. Perhaps it was that there was a chance to go somewhere new and build fresh. Even the Gears themselves had to stand still and marvel at what had been done, how mankind had built itself a new promised land to carry them on into the future.

It didn't last.

Now that the continent was up, it represented a world free of Gears. Because of that, many wanted on at first. There were plenty of ruined villages throughout the world, filled with people who wanted on board to say goodbye to the war-torn Earth below. Perhaps they thought that getting on board this continent would take them closer to Heaven and some idealistic utopia. Whoever was in charge at the time picked them up too, populating their small country with thousands in a few short years.

Once there, however, they soon found themselves living on the terms of who was in charge. First they had to become new citizens…citizens of a country that had literally been assembled and floated in the air. Afterward, they had to be assigned ranks and jobs. The entire continent worked like a massive airship. Everyone had to have a place in it to keep it moving. Last but not least…they had to be subservient. These people had willingly come on board so that they could avoid a world of war below. Now that they were here…now that they were guests…they had to do as their "host" commanded. It was a privilege for them to take refuge on board Zepp. To enjoy that privilege, they had to follow the rules.

And so, the new citizens of Zepp did as they were told. They worked their jobs, not for pay but to keep the country aloft. At first they only ate canned food. In time, however, the leaders of Zepp began to bring in large quanities of topsoil to plant a few acres of crops. To do this, though, they had to make sacrifices. There wasn't enough room or weight for so many people now. Many had to be dropped off again, left to share the fate of the world below. In those days, they just let them off. The foolish people who had signed themselves on board this ship didn't use the opportunity to get off while they still could. The chance soon faded when they went back into the air, and some were assigned duties as farmers now.

However, farms weren't enough. Those who were in charge of the continent wanted to be able to function as a true nation. For that, they needed industries. Commercial areas. Government offices. Police stations. Firehouses. At the time, Zepp was just a giant floating platform in the sky, whose citizenry functioned just to keep it floating in the sky. To become a true country, a lot more than soil was needed.

At first, the world was scoured for good scientists and engineers. They were brought on board…some of them coming willingly and some not…to modify the continent. They were to make it stronger and capable of holding more weight. They succeeded to a point, and once they did huge tables of figures were constructed. All incoming weight now had to be accounted for. The entire country's mass had to be known at all times. It had to be known what the limits were, and what going under and over them by a certain amount would do. Once these were known, work was done.

Homes, surprisingly to the citizens, were not built first. Instead, those in charge made them get to work surrounding the entire island with cannon, rockets, and laser projectors. The administration claimed that was in order to help defend them from Gear attacks. However…when they were put to work, many of those in charge were made to guard them. And they carried weapons and wore new uniforms. That wasn't all. The country had a large amount of guns placed _under_ it…as well as the ability to drop bombs. Of course, only some of these materials could be salvaged. Some of them had to be bartered with. And some of them, the citizens realized, were taken by force by those in power. They only raided depots at the time, but as they gained more weapons they were able to start raiding cities. Then city-states…

Once the defenses were finally done, they still weren't allowed to build hospitals or homes or silos or anything else practical, although many were hurt from all of the work, and many more were exhausted and growing hungry. They had to build an administration building next, for the "new government of Zepp to have a seat of power". And once that was done, they had to build barracks. There was a brief reprieve for the people of Zepp. Some were allowed to join and become soldiers at that time. Those who did enjoyed a slightly better lifestyle than their companions…at the price of putting them under guns to keep them working. Then they built hangers and weapon depots. After that, they had to build factories. Some were for commercial goods, but most were for more weapons. A few commercial stores opened…but they were mostly distribution centers by the administration…which by now had become the government. No one on Zepp had any money to buy anything.

With that done, the people built one hospital in the center of Zepp's "capitol", right within the military district of the city. Yet they weren't allowed to enter it. This was solely for soldiers and ones who did fighting and raiding, which had continued until this point to provide more and more materials for construction. Zepp was getting better at that. After all, planes were in short supply in those days. Most nations were weak from Gear attacks. Against a massive flying fortress large enough to blot out the sun, and starve your countryside for light if they couldn't prevail against you with arms, the country could be very persuasive.

Then the worst news came. All that had been built at this point took up nearly all of the weight limit. A few more people were brought in as well, this time to do the jobs that the current citizens had previously done. Their task now was to work in the factories and till the fields. As for homes and hospitals for themselves…they were restricted. They had built large, elaborate, expensive buildings for the government. They themselves were forced to build sheet-metal shacks in underground bunkers. They weren't allowed to have any central air or heat, for that would take up too much weight. They also were forced to get rid of most of their possessions (although the government retained everything they owned, including things that were riches or trinkets), and trade in their clothes for government-issued light clothing. They weren't allowed to cook individually in homes anymore, but had to go to central serving areas for food. They were all served thin diets to keep from getting too heavy. As for where they slept…two aluminum cots to a house. No more, even if you had sick children. The government, at the time, claimed that the continent would always fly itself to a pleasant, healthy climate, and that disease would be a thing of the past in this floating utopia…although few people thought of it as a utopia by now.

Last but not least…the government started cracking down on family sizes. No more than two children to a house. If you were pregnant after that, the child was forcibly aborted. If you had three "accidental" pregnancies, the government had you sterilized. Children that were above their weight limit due to genetic problems (and they were only because of that, due to the lean diets), were to be euthanized.

Now the people realized what they had done. They weren't in a new paradise. They weren't even citizens. They were slaves…and their lives were now the property of Zepp. A few foolishly tried to rebel at that point…but it was too late. The only ways off of the continent were guarded twenty-four-seven. The continent itself never lowered past a height where you could hope to survive if you jumped. All of the government-issued apparel was too flimsy to make parachutes. Worst of all, if you disobeyed now…they didn't let you off. They pushed you. If all of them worked together, they might have been able to overthrow the government and take control. But what then? No one knew exactly how to keep Zepp aloft or land it. That knowledge was safeguarded by the new military government. They were trapped…in a prison they had foolishly walked into.

After that, the true nature of Zepp came to pass. It was a military dictatorship. Ironically, it allowed it to prosper. Far from Gear attacks, it was able to continue to refine its technology and power. Though its population was slaves, they were slaves that couldn't escape and were the largest body of manpower in the world. In time, they did take areas on the ground. A mine here. A factory there. An orchard over there. But they didn't before they developed ways to turn each into a prison for whatever "citizens" it put there to work. The country was soon one of the mightiest. It was able to move anywhere and took what it wanted from any nation. No country dared declare war against it in those days or voiced their objections. Doing so would enkindle its wrath, and no one could deliver them from it. Although the country was eventually modified to be able to handle more weight…the dictatorship left the citizens to wallow in poverty anyway, using the weight to build bigger weapons and factories.

The paradise faded quickly. Soon, factories were belching thick, poisonous smoke over Zepp at all times. A country that should have constantly received sun now received only blackness, making it impossible to grow on Zepp itself. That was alright by the dictatorship, who proceeded to dump off the soil and made more room for weapons. The promises to keep Zepp always in a good climate were forgotten. Why should they have been honored? The military was quite comfortable in its modern buildings with central air no matter the temperature. It was only the slaves that suffered. Slaves could be easily replaced by desperate people wanting to escape Gears. As for disease, it not only came, but it circulated easily in the terrible conditions of the slave quarters. Again, why should the dictatorship care? They were in nice clean buildings with adequate medical care. Did the slaves not like this? Very well. Off you go.

Things probably would have continued like this…if it wasn't for the end of the Crusades. One could argue that this was the most unfortunate thing to befall the government yet. Good for the rest of the world…bad for Zepp.

With the war over, people stopped despairing and fearing the Gears. That meant there were no more people ready to sign on their lives to living on the floating dictatorship. At that time, the government started a propaganda campaign in hopes of attracting more citizens. It didn't work. The world below was far more stable and free, and soon they began to run their own propaganda against Zepp. With this in mind, the dictatorship began to worry. By now, children were being born into slavery on their continent. Yet it wasn't enough for their brutal rule. If they couldn't replace their manpower as fast as they killed it, they'd have to risk going "easier" on the populace. And if that was the case…insubordination would soon follow. Things might loosen up enough to allow the slaves to learn how to fly Zepp. And then…

Soon, Zepp made military strikes against these areas which put out bad press, saying they had to do it for national stability. Yet Zepp soon received more bad news. Many old governments, which had devoted millions to battling the Gears, now had free funds to build up their own militaries. Countries were becoming strong again. While trying to attack an unflattering newspaper in the United States, Zepp was met with anti-aircraft guns and three fighter planes. They could have shot them down, but not without taking heavier damage than they were ready to deal with. The mighty Floating Continent Zepp was forced to retreat…having been given its first defeat.

Now things were worse for it. The mighty juggernaut of Zepp was revealed to be a mortal after all. And now, papers and media had true ammunition with which to combat it with, to turn the world against it more than before. The United States' victory had also shown the world that they didn't have to be bullied by them either.

Now, Zepp was struggling to beef itself up even more militarily. It was looking for a target desperately, one that was strong and yet also weak enough to be conquered with little trouble, to assert to the world that they were still a major power. And they had to do it soon before a country decided to test its mettle against them.

Potemkin knew this wasn't going to help him or the rest of the slaves that much. Despite these improvements abroad, and despite the fact that slaves on the ground were getting more rebellious, his life and that of his family still belonged to the government. There was no escape once they were on this continent, and there was no way they could get off. For now, the country was just as it had always been for him.

Actually…he might have had it a bit worse or better than some people due to a twist of fate, a twist that landed him in places like this…

Potemkin was now surrounded with eight guards. As soon as the last of them were through, the fish-eye hatch on the door collapsed shut like an iris focusing, and Potemkin was now sealed inside with them. They immediately moved away, continuing to surround him but giving a clear view ahead. He stood plainly now, shifting his feet and swaying his massive arms slightly. They hadn't bothered cuffing him. Even if they had found a pair of binders big enough for him, only refined, reinforced titanium had a chance of holding him.

Ahead, back to him, was the one who had summoned him. He was rather tall and well built, though the second strongest man alive looked like a ninety-pound weakling against Potemkin. He wore the basic military uniform of Zepp…drab, somber, and bringing up memories of every brutal dictatorship in history. One of those officer caps was on his head. He stood on the other side of a basic military desk, having numerous places for files, maps, and a large computer. All of it was rather advanced, and all of it promised death on multiple levels to whatever unfortunate country was next to receive Zepp's wrath.

The man allowed silence for a few moments as he stared out of one of the windows to the smog-choked sky. No one moved or said anything. Potemkin, although he had been in this situation several times before, began to wonder if the man even knew he was there.

In the end, the officer turned away from the window and looked to him. This one was a bit different from the others. He wasn't some skinny jerk who had gotten his position recently and enjoyed the power it gave him every minute of every day. This one was older, and he seemed far more official and militaresque. This, of course, didn't make him better. If anything, it made him worse. But from the look on his rough face, he had at least fought a bit to get where he was. His nose was oversized and hawklike, hanging over a long, flaring mustache. It dominated his upper lip and lower face. His eyes were small and narrow, looking calculating and focused as they peered out from under the brim of his cap at Potemkin.

The man had his arms crossed behind him before now. Yet after staring at Potemkin a moment, he raised his hand abruptly, pointed a device at him, and squeezed a trigger.

Potemkin didn't even shift. He had learned the hard way that bullets had no effect on him unless they came from real guns, and the one he was holding wasn't anything more than a .22. However, he soon found it wasn't a gun either. It was something that annoyed him even more. It was a laser scanner. It went across the room and settled on his right shoulder, where a black tattoo with his "barcode" had been placed. He had been marked and treated like a basic commodity. That was what the government of Zepp thought of him and the rest of the slave class…

Moments later, the screen in front of the man beeped. Without even looking at it, he spoke, no doubt reading it with the corner of his eye. Potemkin was actually a bit surprised. He honestly couldn't tell he was looking at it.

"Resident #346-723-2. Name: Potemkin." He addressed him. Again, the large man was a bit surprised. Usually these guys just addressed him by his number. It was both dehumanizing and amazing. The officers actually recited his number flawlessly each and every time they wanted to call him by "name". "Advanced Class D Magic. Superhuman abilities, particularly in strength, constitution, and resilience. Possible abnormal mutation coupled with magical ability. Soldier slave for Floating Continent Zepp. Number of completed combat missions: 12. Number of completed special operations: 17."

Potemkin focused on that one term that was used: Class D Magic. It was because of that designation that he was here in the first place. However, there was little he could do with it. He couldn't change the way he was born.

During the Crusades, all people and things of magical abilities had been classified into five specific categories. The designation had arisen in the Sacred Order of the Holy Knights, but everyone used it now. The far majority of people were Class E. This was more of a default level. Everyone on Earth besides the occasional mutant had this power. It expressed itself in various ways, all of them mild. Perhaps when you focused real hard the sprinklers would go off. Or you always knew who was going to call. Or a coin always seemed to flip the way you said it would. Or the lights flicker when you enter a room. That kind of stuff.

Class D was the weakest level, but it was also the one where magic actually became a real factor. Class Ds were one in a hundred. These people could actually move objects with a hand gesture if they really concentrated, or they could start a candle if they focused on it. Once again, it depended on the people. When you were up to Class D, you could actually be trained to focus your power. Some did. It gave them ability to predict things in some cases. Or it enhanced your strength. Sometimes you could start small fires or make people trip or hurt themselves by drawing special arcane pictures. Only if you were advanced could you normally focus enough power as a Class D to actually kill a person magically.

Class C was where most people who used magic professionally were at. They were one in a thousand. Once you reached Class C, you no longer focused on just a talent. You focused on an element. You could be trained to develop your skill to do lots of things, both destructive and constructive. These people were always registered and placed in a certain number of positions. They were the best soldiers in armies, the finest doctors, and the greatest atheletes. These people could actually kill with their ability. Because of that, almost all in the world were under the thumb of some superior. A Class D might start a small fire, but a Class C could make one that would burn down a building. A Class D might chill their drink, but a Class C could encase part of their opponent in ice. Class Cs who drew pictures were usually forbidden to do so. These people had enough power in their pictures to make people die. If someone with magical powers went crazy, it was usually a Class C.

Class Bs were extremely rare compared to all others. They were ones in a million or more. It was so hard to find one that some theorized that there was no such thing as Class B. There were only Class Cs who practiced mental and physical techniques as ancient philosophers, monks, and the like did to unlock more innate abilities. There had never been enough Class Bs on record to prove that. There were none in Zepp. Officially, there were only a handful of Class Bs on Earth that were known to be alive. The only one Potemkin knew by name (definitely not reputation) was Captain Ky Kiske of the IPF. He knew that because his masters had considered "siccing" him on Ky in the past if he became too much of a problem. Yet Potemkin wasn't eager for that day to come. Class Bs could kill you without even looking at you. They could destroy entire floors of buildings with a swing of their arms. They could sense you coming from ten miles away. They were proverbial one-man armies. Class B was the highest level any human could hope to attain.

Class A was a class reserved solely for Gears. At that point, their powers were quite simply described as "god-like". Not all Gears actually could fall in this category, but the worst ones did by far. Once they were all gone, Class B would probably become the new Class A. But for now, it existed. Actually, it was broken into two separate categories. Class A-II were god-like but also killable. Class A-I were ones that were impossible to destroy…at least as far as humans knew. Only three Gears and the Commander Gear Justice had that distinction. Two of the other three had been sealed away once they became inactive. The third was restrained in case it ever woke up.

Potemkin himself was Class D…but he was an unusual one. He was born on this godforsaken continent. But unlike slaves in ages past who were surrounded by poverty and captivity, he and his brethren had the unfortunate distinction of being able to see a life better than theirs. He wasn't talking about the military on Zepp. He was talking about looking over the edge or through the vents of the continent itself. Far below…he and the slaves were tortured by seeing a world live in prosperity and freedom, while they were trapped on the floating prison. It was small wonder that, in desperation, some had risked making ramshackle parachutes and jumping for it. Even if they held, the guns killed them before they hit the ground. Some were so desperate and crazed that they went without parachutes… There was no need of guns for _them_.

When he was born, Potemkin was much like other children. He had to go out strapped to his mother every day to work. The factory was dirty, polluted, and not a fit place for adults, let alone children. Some parents had refused to bring their children in there…but their refusal was ill-met. It was nothing to the government to throw extra weight off the edge of the continent. Most decided to risk SIDS rather than watch that happen. The government approved. To them, it helped the kids at an early age learn to be dogs.

And many children _did_ die in those factories. Yet Potemkin lived. He was very strong, even as a toddler. He never used his legs that much, but he used his arms to pull himself out of his mother's harness more than once. When he was old enough, and saw how she was slaving day in and day out, looking weaker and thinner every day, he actually grabbed one of her restraints and started to tug on it. It took three days of work, but he managed to pull it apart. It was shocking for his mother to see at the time. Nowadays he could have broken it easily, but when he was scarcely older than three he ripped a restraint that full-grown men couldn't do. Unfortunately, it was futile. She couldn't escape with him, and even if she could she wouldn't leave without his father and brother. And even if she could, what then?

Potemkin really wasn't sure whether or not he ever really sympathized with his mother's plight on that day…or if he simply thought of her as an old, beaten dog who, even when her leash is broken, refuses to leave an abusive master.

Once Potemkin was old enough, he was taken from his mother's factory and put in another. Now, it was his turn to slave. The other children he knew were put in there. Half of them were worked to death in the first year. However, Potemkin realized he wasn't tiring. As a matter of fact, he could work harder than anyone all day and still not be winded. Luckily at that time he was just a cog in the wheel. Otherwise, they might have increased his taskload until it would have left him weak and dragging himself home every day. Yet at the time, they only cared which ones were strong enough to be slaves for life and which were dead weight.

His family noticed it too. When the roof of their shack fell in, Potemkin lifted it up all by himself. When his brother, six years older than him, broke his leg on the way to work, he picked him up, carried him home, and was still able to get to his own job on time. When he was ten, it was no longer mistakable. His hands were clearly growing much faster than the rest of his body, and so was his muscles. By the time he was twelve, he was easily the strongest slave on Zepp, and the biggest. But he only grew bigger and stronger.

Potemkin continued to serve. He did so for his family. It soon became clear to him that he could snap any restraint. Most bindings were too small to fit him, and he only grew more and outgrew more. One day, one of his nearby workers broke loose and ran for it. The taskmaster pulled out a machine gun and opened fire. The worker was killed, but so were three other workers who had faithfully gone on with their tasks. To the taskmaster, their lives meant nothing to him. They were merely trained dogs. What he didn't notice is that Potemkin should have been number five in the total number of dead. Instead, the three bullets that had found his way to him had only left bruises, not bullet holes.

One by one…Potemkin's family died. By the time he was twenty, he was a slave alone. He grieved over each of them, knowing they were dead only because of Zepp's cruelty. But he had friends with other slaves, and he was by no means alone. He even started to notice Joon. And she noticed him too. Unlike other women, she wasn't put off by his gorilla-like features. She admired him, and he liked her own kind nature. They worked in factories apart, but they saw each other every day at the crossroads, and they met for lunch every noon. They had started seeing each other after the work days were done, and started to be more than friends, when Potemkin slipped.

Until now, his taskmasters had thought he was just some unnaturally large man. Yet at this time, the Crusades had recently ended. With them over came new ideas of security and freedom away from Zepp. This made the taskmasters more cruel, wanting to beat out or kill any ideas of the kind before they took root. To that end, they punished the slightest infraction.

Potemkin had been trying to think of a gift to bring Joon on their next meeting while he was working at the steel foundry. Being so large and strong, it was his duty to do the skimming of impurities. But he was distracted. The steel came out spotty and less than perfect. The taskmaster noticed, and Potemkin, for the last time he could remember, feared for himself.

He knew what came next, and it did. The two guards were summoned. He was led away through the back door. He was put in the alley. He was told to get on his knees and look at the ground. After all, they wanted their victims in a position of begging or inferiority when they died. Potemkin's heart raced. His throat went dry. He waited and waited…until he finally heard the click and the powerful noise.

Potemkin winced in terror, waiting for a million things. He waited for the world to vanish. He waited for pain in the back of his head. He waited to see the top of his forehead, a bit of his brain, and lots of blood to splatter out in front of him. Instead…he felt nothing. Actually, that wasn't true. He had felt something, he just didn't notice it at the time. He had been too scared to feel it. However…the gun soon went off again. Once more he winced as his ears were hurt by the deafening sound. But this time, he wasn't expecting it or waiting on pins and needles for it. He heard a small tinkling this time, but other than that nothing. He began to slowly lose a small measure of fear. Perhaps the gun was jammed. But if that was the case, why was he hearing it firing? Why was he feeling wind slam against the back of his head?

Another shot…and this time he noticed it. It felt like some pebble or rock was thrown against the back of his scalp. Moments later, and the tinkling again. He found the source this time. It was under him. Despite thinking that moving would kill him, he realized he was dead anyway and bowed his head lower to see. There, lying on the ground under his legs, were three bullets…each one smashed in as if it had just fired against a bulletproof vest.

Potemkin slowly began to realize the truth as the taskmaster grew furious. He enjoyed his ability to hold sway over life and death in his dogs. The fact that he couldn't kill this one was driving him crazy. Soon, he discharged the rest of the shots errantly. Two didn't even hit him. The rest didn't even leave a bruise this time. Potemkin had grown too strong. His entire body was like steel now. Soon, all of the bullets were so much trash on the ground, and in anger the taskmaster smacked him against the side of the head with his gun butt. It felt like a fly had landed on him, but the taskmaster didn't care. It had been a final desperate act. Throwing his gun down, he screamed at Potemkin to go back in and get back to work.

Potemkin did as he was told…but from that day on he was a much happier man. He knew he had been superhumanly strong, but now he realized he also couldn't be killed by bullets. That made him suddenly lose his fear of death. He continued to work…but he no longer cared to take it easy if he was tired. He slacked off some times when he wanted to daydream. And there was nothing that the taskmaster could do except scream at him. Soon, that grew mundane as well, and Potemkin ignored it too. He was this strong now… What if there came a time when he was strong enough to shrug off cannon fire? Or survive a leap off the edge of Zepp?

It was two years later when he married Joon. He had been too cocky then, and had made a big mistake. He gave the enemy a trump card. Yet at the time, he couldn't think of it being bad. That day in the alley had been a turning point in his life. Things were going to be good for now on.

That thought didn't last.

First he realized that he couldn't escape now. Doing so would mean abandoning Joon. She had no strength or resilience. He'd have to somehow save her too if he would run for it. Yet something happened soon after that was far worse. He was summoned into the military headquarters themselves.

At first, Potemkin feared that he was finally going to get it for what happened with the taskmaster. He wasn't afraid for himself, but he feared what they might do to his wife. And the fact of the matter was he still wasn't invincible. That had been some small pistol. Bigger ones might still break his rock skin. And there were more ways than bullets to hurt someone. He wondered if torture was in store for him. Or if he would find out sooner than he wanted if he could survive a fall off of Zepp…

As soon as he was escorted in by guards, he received his collar. He had worn it ever since. The officer on duty, a scrawny fellow with a self-important grin, informed him that there was an explosive stronger than C4 located in the collar around the major blood vessels in his neck. He also brandished a remote. One push, he said, and it would be over. The collar would also detonate if he ever tried to remove it or if it was damaged in any way. After that, the officer led him on to a higher one. He too was a skinny jerk, grinning at him. But he did so not from satisfaction at seeing Potemkin in his new dilemma…but in seeing what a lovely new dog he had to unleash on enemies.

Hours later, and Potemkin found himself impressed into a new line of work: the military. He was dispatched along with a group of soldiers to make a raid on a depo. It was only a test job, but they told him to fight at his best. Spare no one. If he didn't, they wouldn't blow him up. They'd wait until they killed his wife and showed him the body. _Then_ they'd blow him up. Potemkin was used to doing as he was told at this point, and he had no choice. And so, he went in.

No one was killed on that mission by him, but he got an idea of the limits of his strength. Most of the mission was smooth, but at one point a tank started to roll toward him, meaning to crush him and the rest of the soldiers with him. Most of them were slave soldiers as well, and so he cared whether or not they died. To his own surprise as well as his comrades, he attacked the tank. Focusing all of his strength, he charged into it and _stopped it._ After that, giving a mighty grunt, he lifted the entire front end off the ground, and was able to hold it there with so little of its treads actually touching terra firma. He could do no more, however. It took all he had to hold up half of that thing. It was a miracle that he was able to escape afterward. He probably wouldn't have if he wasn't with other slave soldiers. They forced the pilot to wait to allow their savior to return. It was a good move in the end, because his superiors, on seeing what he did through remote camera, would have gladly sacrificed them all to have Potemkin.

Now he was one of Zepp's greatest weapons. He was sent on regular missions for a while, but soon he received special missions for him alone. The commander of the operation was always different, although he progressively went into higher and higher ranks. Many of them risked his life, but he was strong and faster than his strength would lead one to believe. He survived them all. In time, he was given gauntlets with special charges inside them. If he detonated one with a punch, his strength became enough to shatter a tank, or put a hole in an airship.

He did the jobs faithfully…because things actually got better. No more factory work for Potemkin. No sir. They wanted their jock to be in prime shape for the big games. They fed him better too…but Potemkin only accepted the raw vegetables. He didn't need anymore food. He gave it to his wife and his new baby girl, and he was only sure about the vegetables not being fortified with steroids or other drugs to make Potemkin an even bigger drooling ape. At home, he had enough time to watch their girl inside the house, so she never had to go to the factory. As for his wife…he was able to give the officers some line about, "I'm too stressed to fight when I think of my wife sick and on the job." So she got some days off too.

But it wasn't perfect. Joon still had to work every day except when the officers confirmed he was telling the truth about her being sick. Her health was steadily deteriorating. He had seen it before in his own mother. She would be worked to death before long. And he…he was getting to lounge around at home most of the time. To him, the missions were too easy compared to what his wife had to go through. She wasn't super-strong or nearly invulnerable. And even if she lived…his daughter would soon be old enough to go into the factories. Only she hadn't grown up in their pollution. She might be too weak to survive…

He had to get them out. Somehow. He was the father. He had to be responsible and save his family.

But for now…he found himself stuck in this office, and stuck with another job.

"I'm not much for 'getting friendly', so I'll get right to the heart of the matter." The officer finally continued, fully focusing on Potemkin now. "My name is General Gabriel. I report directly to the High Administrator of Zepp itself. You obviously know you're here to render to us another service. That comment should show you that this is one of the most important special missions we have for you yet.

"Yesterday, at 12:27 PM Standard Time, a signal reached our receivers. It overpowered all of our countermeasures and anti-hacking systems in seconds, and proceeded to play a two minute message over and over again for the rest of the day. Based on our spies, the same effect happened in every other nation and major power that could be a threat to us. I won't go into the entire content of the message, as it is unimportant. The important part was that the individual responsible demonstrated an astonishing amount of power…using weapons of some sort that we weren't able to pick up on our scanners despite being near enough to be in the 'threat zone'.

"The man has indicated that another Gear war is imminent, and he requesting people from all over the world to go to England to compete in a tournament to select members for a new Sacred Order of Holy Knights. He also pledged to give a substantial prize to one who manages to find him. Gears and prizes do not concern the High Administrator. What does is how this person managed to get this message into our system and use the weapons under our noses.

"Your assignment is to enter this tournament. You are to track down the one responsible for holding it, capture him, and bring him here. If you are unable to capture him, you are to terminate him. All other goals are secondary, including survival of other combatants. Any questions?"

Potemkin stood his ground for a moment and thought. Another special mission. He got more and more of those now. Each one was more difficult than the last. However, it also became clear as time went on that he was the only one who could do them. Each new mission seemed a little more impossible for a platoon to carry out, and only better for him. This one must have been no exception. The fact that they were sending him alone to the tournament rather than trying to just storm the island meant that they weren't that confident in their ability to succeed in that respect. And they must have expected him to be the one most likely to beat through other combatants, which would no doubt be attracted by the two promises he made…

Potemkin wasn't sure why…but a possibility entered his mind at that point. Normally he might have submerged it, but his thoughts had grown more concerned about his family recently. With that in mind, he found himself speaking up, almost surprised to hear what he had to say.

"…Then you need me. What if I was to say no?"

Some of the nearer guards nearly broke position. Gabriel himself did not, but he was silent for a moment. Immediately, Potemkin felt ice water running through his veins. He had never said anything like that before. And likely the guards had never heard it. The dog was talking back to its master? Ridiculous! Yet the large man had an idea…and only prayed that he was as valuable as he thought.

"…I didn't think you needed to be refreshed on this, Potemkin, but very well." Gabriel continued after a moment. "I could simply have your head blown off this second via the collar on your neck, or at the minimum open your blood vessels. And if that didn't scare you, we could always kill that wife and child of yours."

"Kill me and you'll lose the man best-suited for this job." Potemkin answered. Then, to try and confirm it to himself, "You know I'm the strongest slave soldier by far and that I'm the only one armored naturally enough to get through this. Anyone else would need guns and weapons. I'm the only real chance at getting this guy alive. As for my family, threaten them and I'll die before I pick up a pen for you."

Silence in the room. The guards were struggling not to look. Refusing to do as commanded was one thing. Actually trying to coerce an officer was something else. But Potemkin stood firm and glared back like a statue at Gabriel. He had to. He had come this far. Now he had to pray that he was so valuable that they couldn't even consider doing this mission with someone else. If he was wrong, he was dead. It wasn't long before the inevitable question came.

"You seem to be pretty confident that we cannot succeed without you." Gabriel finally asked with a poker face. "Do you really think you're that important?"

"Almost 20 special missions seem to make that so." Potemkin answered, forcing himself to be perfectly calm. "And like I said…I'm the best for this job. I know it already."

Silence again. Potemkin took that as a good sign. If it wasn't, Gabriel might have shot him down already. He hoped it was him thinking about what he said. He hoped it wasn't him thinking about new ways to motivate him. Potemkin realized, unfortunately, that those did exist. And much as it was torture, he didn't think he wanted to see his family's suffering end due to death.

Finally, Gabriel straightened somewhat.

"You'd be the first slave soldier to which we've done this, but you seem to want us to compensate you in some way for your services in a way other than allowing you to live for another few days. Exactly what did you have in mind? How much more do you think you're worth besides the cost of explosives and this mission? Keep in mind that setting you free is hardly an option. Like you yourself said, you're too valuable."

"I don't care about what you make me do." Potemkin returned. "You mentioned my wife and daughter. I want them freed. I'll stay and keep working for you."

"It's not in my authority to free slaves." Gabriel answered calmly. "But I'll see what I can do."

"I want them freed before I do this mission." Potemkin coldly continued.

"No."

Potemkin's guts turned cold again. Gabriel wasn't sharp. He didn't raise his voice. He just calmly told him that single word, like he was a teacher disciplining a student. It actually stopped him for a moment. However, he decided to press further.

"Then I don't do it."

Gabriel merely sighed and bowed his head slightly to furrow his brow.

"Potemkin…we have both stated our intentions. I say, you do the job or I'll kill your family. You say, free my family or I won't do the job. A compromise, in this case, would be to simply leave your family exactly where they are and undamaged. The very fact that I haven't had you killed two minutes ago is enough to make the High Administrator's head spin in circles. If he heard that I actually had to negotiate for a slave's services, he'd have us both executed, and probably your family just out of spite.

"Here is the final offer. You will go and do this mission. You will locate the target. At which time, you will place a call directly to me. You will give me the coordinates of his location. Until this point, I will be working to see if I can have your family freed and moved out. Once you've given me his coordinates, I will inform you of the status on my own mission. Based on what I say, you can decide whether or not to proceed for yourself. Agreed?"

Potemkin frowned. "Once you have his coordinates, you won't need me anymore, will you?"

Gabriel raised an eyebrow here.

"…Weren't you the one who thought he was so important that only he would be able to capture him alive?"

Potemkin's guts turned sour. He had walked right into that one. He didn't like this deal…but currently it was the best he had ever received. They weren't going to kill his family. That was for certain. They'd either say they were freed or that they hadn't been able to do it. And he believed Gabriel about the part that if the High Administrator found out what he had done in this room, he was a dead man. In that sense, he had one round of ammunition against him even if everything else fell through. This was probably as good as it was going to get.

At long last, Potemkin extended a hand out to Gabriel. The officer hesitated a moment, but then brought up his other hand. His own large grip only encircled a single finger of Potemkin's.

"Agreed."

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: Eddie and Me...


	9. Eddie and Me

**"Eddie and Me"**

* * *

Zato-1 hated to use this. He much preferred to use Eddie. When he used him, he didn't need eyes to see. He did at first, of course. That was when he just told Eddie to do things and let him go. Later, however, he found…or rather, Eddie _showed_ him…that he could leave his body attached to him. When he did, he could see out of Eddie's own eyes. The job was a lot more fun then. However, much as he would have loved to keep his little buddy out all the time, he couldn't now. He didn't like showing him to others unless they already knew about him. A man had to have secrets. 

Zato-1 knew the interior of his own living room pretty well. It was rather posh and elaborate, decorated with lots of the finest Spanish styles. It was more like a mansion or a palace then just a home. Zato-1 couldn't see the room. Eddie himself only focused on other life forms. However, he could feel the woven style of the drapes. He could run his hand over the fine pottery. And he definitely could rest in the cushions. It was a better room…a better house…than the Spanish president possessed. And if it cost him his eyes to have it, he didn't care.

For the parts of the room he didn't know so well, Zato-1 had his blind-man's cane. It was more of a pole rather than a cane, per say. It was custom made too. The metal was silver. The head of it was a titanium skull with rubies for eyes. He had it made at the time to be a potential bludgeoning weapon. However, with Eddie along, he soon realized he needed no other weapon. His hearing and overall senses were pretty good too, but he still needed the cane a bit. He didn't want anyone putting a hand on him to help him.

He moved into the room pretty fast. His cane flicked out one way and the other, moving rapidly along with his footsteps as he strolled into it. His "entourage" was behind him, dragging a rather beaten and dirty-looking former employee. His clothes were in tatters and it looked like he hadn't shaved or slept in some time. Obviously, he had to have known that Zato-1 was back in town.

And how exactly had Zato-1 gotten back "into town"? Or back into this plane of existence? He had no idea. All he knew was that Eddie had to have something to do with it. He couldn't remember much of where he had been. All he had was some dream about intangible blackness surrounding him… What he did know was that he had been wandering the streets of this city for the past twelve weeks, barely aware of his surroundings, let alone who he was or even if he was someone at all. He knew this from one of his associates. He had noticed some torn up person who he had thought resembled his old boss walking around the same block day in and day out for months. When he came up to him and saw who he was, he tried to snap him out of it. Zato-1 hadn't become aware immediately, but after a few hours of hearing someone address him by his own name, he began to come to. Within the end of the day, he was starting to act like a real person and was aware of his surroundings. By the end of the week, Zato-1 was back in action.

He soon found out he had been gone for two years. He had no idea how much time had passed…just felt like he had been in an endless black nightmare. But vaguely, right before it began, he remembered a person. It was a certain blond-haired woman…bleeding and weak…poised to have Eddie rip her liver out and devour it right in front of her… Then he remembered some horrible, Earth-shattering sound. He had heard that expression before…Earth-shattering. It wasn't until then that he knew exactly what that meant. But he definitely remembered something Earth-shattering. It didn't take long for him to realize that it had been a dimensional prison.

However, what upset him even more than what had happened that day was that the organization was a mess. It seemed that ever since he left, not too many people had been too sad to see him gone. Definitely no one set about letting him out. Quite a few had betrayed large sections of the Syndicate that he had worked so very hard to build up. He had lost a lot of the power he once had held rather securely. Naturally, there was a lot of rebuilding to do…and a lot of business to take care of. Hence, this was the reason that Zato-1 had brought this particular assassin in tonight.

Zato-1 reached the footrest for one of his chairs. Once there, he turned and sat down in it. He put his cane to one side, and calmly folded his hands in front of him. Moments later, and the assassin was thrown down on the couch in front of him. Zato-1 knew it was him. He could _smell_ him. His fear. His stench. His quality of bravery and constitution. He had little of either. He wondered how he had ever let this spineless joke into the Assassin Syndicate in the first place.

Zato-1 dressed simply but neat. He had little need to indulge in finery when he couldn't enjoy it with his own eyes. Most of his body was in a sleeveless black bodysuit, which adhered to the skin and exposed the owner's muscles. Zato-1 did have quite a few. After all, one did work out in his profession. Long, fingerless black gloves came up over his elbow, and a black belt with a solid gold buckle was over his middle. Other than that, he simply had a lot of long, smooth, limp blond hair hanging down over most of his neck and chest. Although it truly didn't matter anymore, he kept it out of his eyes and back a bit via the large black, red, and gold visor he wore at all times, right over blood-red blind-man's glasses. No one could see his eyes, and he couldn't see anyone else's. However…he knew he intimidated people when he appeared to see them through the lenses. Sometimes he did, thanks to Eddie.

Zato-1 didn't look all together dangerous on his own. He looked bigger and deadlier than a lot of men, but not anymore than some you would see passing on the street. And yet…anytime one looked at him…they would notice something. There was a facet about that man that was unnatural. Something about him seemed to make him stick out from his surroundings more than anyone else. No one could put their finger on it, but he almost looked like he was some cut-out of a man who had been removed from one dimension and placed on this one, and just like in a collage that some kid made he distinctly was removed from it.

Yet as people kept looking, they'd finally notice it. Zato-1 cast _no shadow._ It didn't matter what quality of light it was. If he was standing under a single street lamp in the middle of the night, his entire body would be illuminated but he would leave no shadow. He didn't even have a hint of one under his nose over his upper lip. Only if there was no source of light, and all the world was dark, would Zato-1 be dark himself. If someone stood between him and a bright sun, the sun wouldn't glare in their eyes…but Zato-1 wouldn't put any darkness over them himself. He never left a shadow anywhere. No silhouettes. No shade. Nothing. This was enough to unsettle anyone. Many thought he was a ghost. Many more…and this one was actually closer to the truth…thought he was some devil from another world.

"You've been a bad boy, Mikey." Zato-1 began, seeming to stare right at him with his dead eyes.

"I had to, boss. I had no choice." He immediately started to blubber like a typical stool pigeon who had been caught cooing in front of the wrong people. "I had no idea you were coming back."

"And I suppose you wouldn't have said anything if you knew I was." Zato-1 simply answered. "Are you saying that your loyalty only extends so far as the noose someone keeps your neck in?"

The man's sweat doubled.

"They were going to kill me if I didn't tell them something, Zato-1. They had been beating me for twelve hours…dunking my head underwater…attaching electrodes…"

"Really?" Zato-1 simply answered. "Because I've got three guys who swore they saw you all day except for three hours, and that they saw you go in and go out of the police station."

Mikey's face turned ashy.

"You know, Mikey…" Zato-1 continued. "I don't like it when people lie to me, because then I have no idea what coming out of their mouth is bullsh't and what's the truth. You know something else? Eddie _really_ doesn't like it when people lie to me…"

Desperately, the ex-assassin shook his head. "Just two safehouses, Zato-1. I swear all I told them was where two safehouses were. Not another word. I swear on my mother's grave."

Zato-1 merely hummed a bit and gave a head nod, as if he was simulating interest.

"I'm not stupid, boss. I knew what the Syndicate would do to me if I told them something that really mattered. I'd never do that…"

"Yet you'd give them something that would inconvenience us and risk some loyaler, stiffer-spined assassins so you could make a few bucks." Zato-1 answered. "I have to tell you Mikey…you _really_ disappoint me. I thought that someone who would have the guts to go around killing people for a living would at least have the balls to own up to his mistakes. I like a guy who can kill other people, but not one who's too chicken sh't to have bowel control when a gun's pointed at his own head. Now…" He spoke in a slower, more distinct voice, bending down a bit and folding his hands. "If you had been a man…if you had proudly told me that you turned in a dozen of our boys to get yourself out of some jail time, and nearly cost us thirteen blocks of property…"

The man began to shake like a leaf as his eyes widened. His lie was found out.

Zato-1 gave a shrug. "Well…then I might have thought you at least had guts. Then I might have just had you sniped. Or maybe a car bomb. Nice and easy and painless. But since you give my associates the run around…try jumping town on me…try bribing me on the way here…and then have the _nerve_ to lie to my face…well…"

"Two million, Zato-1. I can get two more…"

"Eddie." Zato-1 simply said, a single word that froze Mikey's soul and made the rest of the entourage back off. "Make him suffer _inhumanly._"

Mikey's lip trembled as he whispered "no", but it was too late for him. At long last, Zato-1 did cast a shadow. But it wasn't underneath him, where it should have been. It was _over_ him. And no sooner had he cast it then it got thicker. Blacker. What started off as shade became practical night. And then it went even darker than that…becoming like a layer of non-reflective black paint which swallowed all light within it. It spread over Zato-1 like some sort of black suit.

Then, just as soon as it came, the shadow lifted off of him. It seemed to peel itself up and off of his flesh. When it did, it sucked the rest of the light in the immediate area away, turning the well-lit apartment into darkest night. Mikey looked up, the sound caught in his throat, as he saw the huge shadow separate from Zato-1. It grew bigger then. It warped, twisting away from being that of a human to something far larger and monstrous. Mikey's mouth was frozen open as he saw the shadow grow thicker and more distinctive, ceasing to be just a shadow and becoming a _body_.

The monstrous, distorted head of the thing looked up. Mikey saw a large mouth with dozens of wolf-like teeth open. Two red eyes shone out of the darkness hungrily at him.

Abruptly…the shadow lunged forward, and the great black mass condensed and became thick and rope like, almost like a liquid. It sailed right for Mikey's frozen mouth…and into it. Within a few instants, the blackness was running down his throat and into his stomach. Soon it was completely inside Mikey. His eyes widened, knowing that the thing had entered his body. That was the last thing he ever thought.

The assassins Zato-1 had brought closed their eyes. They had seen lots of stuff in their time…but there was nothing as terrible or nightmarish as Eddie. As they closed their eyes, they heard Mikey scream. At least…it started off like a scream. It quickly turned into something more horrid. Then they heard bones snapping and mesentaries ripping. Blood splattered everywhere. It sounded as if Mikey was literally being turned _inside out_. Although they couldn't see it, Zato-1 alone looked unaffected. He stared ahead and relished that noise…smiling all the way.

In seconds it was done. After the horrible sounds died out, somewhat less terrible sounds came. It sounded like something lapping and crunching…like a beast from hell feasting on something. The men didn't dare open their eyes until it was nearly finished. When they did finally have enough bravery to crack them open, they caught a glimpse of the thing. Most of it had reattached to Zato-1. However…its black head with the blood-red eyes was still extended over one part of the carpet, sucking up one little spill of blood. As it vanished into the thing's mouth, the last trace of Mikey Donovan on Earth disappeared forever. Once it was done, the creature's head melted, becoming flat and black again. It retracted and touched Zato-1's body, and once there it seemed to seep into his flesh and disappear. All that was left now was Zato-1, still smiling and quite satisfied with Eddie's choice of execution.

Zato-1 had always had a desire to inflict pain. Although he grew up as some typical orphan punk on the streets of Barcelona, Spain, he really couldn't claim a lack of parenting was the reason he had become one of the world's greatest sadists. Truth be told…he didn't _want_ to blame this on some reason. He was what he was, and he wasn't ashamed of it. There were lots of natural born killers in this organization. He was a natural born _murderer_.

When he was four years old, he didn't just burn ants with a magnifying glass. He burned their legs off one by one and then finished them. When he was six, he took up tying bricks to dogs and cats and throwing them into the ocean. Yet that didn't last long. By the time he was seven, he got to like the feel of their necks breaking in his own hands instead. Of course, he could only do it to puppies and kittens at the time. When he was eight he got to really beat the crap out of his first fellow human being. It was a four year old at the time. He loved the sense of euphoria he got from it. Most other kids felt some sense of remorse or nagging to stop at that age. He ignored it and pushed on with the feeling. By the time he was done, the kid had a permanent indentation in the side of his head. He wasn't even trying to steal anything from the four year old. He just wanted to see what it was like to beat a human to death. Unfortunately, at the time, he wasn't yet old enough to kill with his bare hands, and he didn't want to use a rock or other weapon. That would "cheapen" it.

Even when he first worked on small jobs for the local crime syndicate at age 12 (mostly drug-running and lookout), he enjoyed beating people. At that age, he finally managed to kill a six year old. He could have strangled him, but that wasn't good enough. He wanted to watch him bleed to death. Of course, after that, he grew dissatisfied again. He wanted to kill someone the same age as him. It wasn't anything major to kill one smaller and weaker, after all. Luckily, he had connections in the mob. They held a few people down for him. Even in those days, these big thirty-year-old bruisers were unsettled by him. It was one thing to get revenge or beat someone who wronged you. But Zato-1 loved it, and they saw how much he loved it. In those days, they started saying to the superiors that he was a psycho kid. He wanted to cut their throats for that, but he wasn't quite old enough yet. That was the only time in his life he "toned it down" a bit.

It was a good thing too. It gave him time to study ways of quickly and ruthlessly murdering people, in addition to slow and painful ways of doing it. He took more time out to train his body and sharpen his skill. Being in the mob changed his outlook on life. He already knew he wanted to kill people on a daily basis. The thing was he didn't want to do it as a thug. Assassins were what marveled him. They turned it into an art form. And truly, that was what he was when it came to it. An artist of death. If he was just a killer, he would have crushed the ants. It was burning their legs off one by one that was the true excitement. And so he studied that.

He became a thug when he was 16. He was probably the youngest ever in that crime syndicate, but he was good at it. He wasn't the strongest, but he knew how to torture people to death even then. And unlike other 16 year olds, he had no remorse or "virgin eyes" about death. He killed people brutally as possible, scaring countless others into submission. By the time he was 20 he was upgraded to a hit man. It was still a rather dirty, crude job, but it was another step in refinement. He loved the chance to work as his own boss. It was at that time that he named himself Zato-1. It was after a samurai he had studied, and he thought it was appropriate. He continued to sharpen his technique and skill at death as time marched on.

Yet by the time he was 24, the mob had seen enough. He thought they were a bunch of hypocrites. They wanted people dead. They ordered people dead every day of the week. What did they care how he did it? Did death have to be clean? Or done via a certain set of guidelines? It was ridiculous to him. It didn't change the fact that his bosses were getting too uneasy about him. They didn't like the way he looked when he committed murder. They didn't like how he seemed to indulge in blood. The leader actually called him in and gave him some stupid lecture (like he was his dad or something) about some nonsense that the mob wasn't just about death, but had some higher purpose. Zato-1 would have busted a gut in his face if he knew the room wasn't full of thugs with guns itching to kill him, and knowing he could only take all but one or two. That would have been all that was needed. He left soon after, and to him it was good riddance.

Luckily, it didn't take long for him to find his true calling. The Assassin Syndicate was an organization made just for people like him, and he was soon reveling in murder again. However, silly as it seemed, there were actually assassins in there that too thought for some reason that they had some saintly method of killing people that would somehow ensure their way into Heaven or something. He had to do something about that. The mob had been spoiled by a bunch of fools who had a brain blind spot when it came to their own sins, and seemed to think they were actually something more than the scum of the Earth. He was never ashamed of who he was…and he'd make this organization into something that reflected that.

However, Zato-1 found out soon that he couldn't advance very far into the organization. He was a class D magic at the time, but he only got the simplest of the special jobs. And though he did very good work with them that instilled fear and terror, his superiors wouldn't let him get any better. He knew the true reason for this. They were holding him back on purpose. These so-called masters of death were actually repulsed at the sight of a true artist. He knew then that there was only one solution. He had to change things around there. And in order to do it, he had to take his rightful place as head of the Assassin Syndicate.

For a long time, he tried to think of a way to get him enough notoriety to get to the top of pile. However, although he was more than vicious enough to rank among the best, he wasn't strong enough. The only way to get there would be to find a way to enhance his power. None presented itself though. He tried sharpening his mind through training, and even managed to get a few jobs normally reserved only for class C magics. However, he was never able to get up into the top league. He grew resentful of the Syndicate. They were only letting people get into the top who had gotten where they were by some unhappy chance. He was the real deal. When was his turn?

As luck would have it, he finally found his answer in a fellow assassin.

Millia Rage was yet another assassin he initially thought little of. She too had that senseless romantic notion of death. She had actually been paired with him a few times, and each time he enjoyed seeing her face turn as he showed her how a _real_ assassin killed someone. She actually made him mad on a few points. Her face was clearly upset at his murders…and yet she glared down on him with some sort of superior air, as if by being weaker stomached than him she was somehow better than him. What was worse, she stopped him from having maximum fun on numerous occasions. She was on Zato-1's private list of people to eventually kill when he saw her use her hair.

Zato-1 was, for once, captivated by something other than death. That hair was amazing. It allowed her to do anything. _Anything._ Her hair shaped into any tool she needed. It became as hard as steel or as soft as feathers. It could become any solid weapon, choke any person, and made her the best assassin in the business. Once he saw everything the hair could do…he _wanted_ it. He wanted it more than anything else he had ever seen before in his life.

He grilled Millia, but she wouldn't talk about how she got it. He wanted to off her right there, but he knew he was no match for the hair. Not until he got something better. It took a lot of money changing hands and a lot of "friends of friends" to talk to, but eventually he found out that she had gotten it by studying one of the "Six Forbidden Magics". As a member of the Assassin Syndicate, he was able to gain access to the tools he needed to study it for himself. And so he did. Once he had them, he thumbed through the six until he saw the one he wanted. Millia herself had picked "Angra". He, however, saw something of more interest in the fifth, "Shokusei Kagejin". He initially wanted "Angra", but on seeing that it was the most advanced and would take years to master, he settled for the fifth. This one would only take a year with hard work. What more…it suited him better. Angra brought a part of your body to life. But Shokusei Kagejin brought your _shadow_ to life.

It wasn't until he was already studying for six months that he realized something frustrating. His power would be inferior to Millia's. She had studied the more advanced magic. It drove him crazy. How could that be possible? Hair was just a body part. A shadow was something dark and sinister, of a nature not of the physical world. He was the better magic too. And yet…his impatience to get the power of this technique had led him to lose his advantage. He couldn't stand it. He was determined to find a way to get it better. He actually put out an ad in the underworld, wanting to track down anyone who knew anything about the fifth Forbidden Magic. He had to find a way to get it stronger.

The irony was that it was not a criminal or crooked sage who answered…but the Post-War Administration Bureau.

The stuffed shirt they sent to him sickened him, but he was perfectly cordial. He had an attitude he really didn't care for. However…he told him that they had been looking for someone…anyone…who had been studying Shokusei Kagejin. They had something top secret related to it. It appeared that one of the Gears had studied the same thing. But this Gear had enhanced it somehow…took the shadow from being a mere weapon and giving it a true consciousness and power. It was a symbiote of sorts. It couldn't live apart from a host (at least outside of the special facility where they held it). But it could only bond to another practicing the technique. They offered it to Zato-1. All they wanted in return was for him to answer a few questions about what it was like. Technically, what they were doing wasn't legal. And so they wanted to keep it quiet. Zato-1 could go back to his daily activities. All he had to do was give them the low down on how he reacted to the shadow. Seeing that this was the shadow of a Gear…and some entity beyond anything he could ever have…he agreed.

Six months later, the symbiote was produced just as Zato-1 finished the final ceremony. He had to give up something to gain this power, and he chose his eyes. He wasn't sure why he picked his eyes over anything else. He knew it had to be one of his five senses for this particular magic. He wanted to hear screams of terror and sounds of begging. He wanted to feel his hands in torn flesh. He wanted to be able to taste liquor, drugs, and blood. And he wanted to be able to smell the fear on his victims before he killed them. Although he wanted to see it too…he could live without that. His sight was lost, and he and the symbiote were joined.

Almost instantly, Zato-1, from that day forward, called him Eddie. That was his name. He didn't know how he knew that. He just knew it the instant Eddie became one with him. And it was the best decision he ever made.

Eddie somehow made Zato-1 stronger. He became faster, more agile, and mightier. He no longer needed his eyes. Eddie always told him where to go, when to dodge, at what angle to tilt his head…everything. He could even bond to Eddie's own eyes and see through them when he killed someone, so he wasn't missing a thing. Eddie stayed under his skin most of the time. But when he wanted him, he would spring out and transform himself just like Millia's hair. He could form blades or grapples or other appendages that were grafted onto him. He could envelop his body and make him invulnerable to guns, cannon, knives, fire or cold. He could sprout wings from his back and actually fly…not just glide like Millia could. He could separate from him enough to form a second torso or humanoid shape, as he had when Zato-1 had told him to kill Mikey. And Eddie opened his mind to a whole new realm of killing possibilities. Unlike all the others in the world, Eddie loved violence and death. Both of them shared their pleasure with each other whenever they killed. It was a match made in heaven.

It didn't take long for Zato-1 to become boss after that. As head of the Assassin Syndicate, he reworked things so that they were suitable for true assassins. He kept Millia on…somewhat out of fascination for her hair, but mostly waiting for the right chance to kill her. One by one, he disposed of his enemies in various ways. He still went out on jobs too. Eddie made him invincible. He'd replay the exact moment of death for him again and again without the need of a camcorder, and made him re-experience every sense he enjoyed the first time. As his power solidified, he thought more and more about finally doing away with Millia. Eddie suggested all sorts of wonderful possibilities, and Zato-1 would sit at his desk for hours as his little friend whispered them into his ear, laughing all the while.

Millia did end up doing one thing that he admired. She struck first. He had already been getting rumors that she was trying to jump the Syndicate when he got a call for a job in a rather unorthodox place. Eddie automatically told him it was her, although he could have guessed it himself. Apparently, so had his friend. They played ball. They went to the area. They walked into the empty abandoned apartment and feigned ignorance. They actually waited for her to strike. However, like he said before, she was far too soft. She couldn't stab him in the back. And so, he ended up attacking first.

It was fun. She drew blood quite a few times, but he could tell she was too weak to enjoy it. Every drop that _they_ drew they relished like sumptuous morsels. Eventually, the fight began to grow boring. When that happened, Eddie began to enact the first phase of the torture they had planned for her…when she threw the device at him. She had hid it the whole time, and neither he nor Eddie had seen it. As soon as it touched, there was that sound…and then nothing for the next two years.

That removed what little respect he had gained for her. Didn't even have the guts to kill him in the end…

"Very nice work, gentlemen." Zato-1 replied at last as he eased back fully into his chair. "Have a good evening tonight on me."

Moments later, he heard the guys leaving. He noticed that they were moving a bit faster, and he could smell some sweat on them. Yeah…Eddie had that kind of impression on people. He supposed that if he wasn't attached to his body, he might think the same thing. At any rate, they were soon outside and he was alone in his penthouse.

That done, Zato-1 reached over to his side for a little lamp table. On reaching it, his hand found what he had left there earlier, his cellular. He picked it up and quickly maneuvered the buttons to get to his contact menu. He may have not been able to see it, but in his mind's eye he remembered each menu faithfully. He soon reached the number he wanted, dialed it, and then put it up against the side of his head.

A few moments later, he spoke up. "That you, Gene? I trust those three I sent after Millia are dead, right? Perfect. She quit the Syndicate years ago, and yet she's still doing pro bono work for me. No, I don't have anyone else I want her to take care of yet. Talk to you soon."

The phone hung up, another number was dialed, and placed against his head.

"Now you're a voice I didn't think to hear from for longer than two years. How are you enjoying your freedom, Venom? Yeah, I understand that the heat's probably still on too hot for you to get back to Europe. You just take your time. Oh no, buddy…I didn't have anything to do with that. It's some nut on the air who wants to host some tournament in England. Yeah. I know it doesn't sound like there could possibly be any connection, but it's the truth. As a matter of fact, this guy might be my key to solving another problem. Come back soon."

Another hang up and another dialing.

"Hello? Slayer, was it? You're the one I heard was gunning for my job a month before I got back. If you think this is going to be the last warning before a bomb goes off in your apartment, don't worry. Not only do I doubt that would do it, but I _love_ your style. You're worth keeping alive simply so I can see you work. I have a different job for you. You've got lots of underworld connections outside the Syndicate. Start putting out the message that Zato-1 is going to be attending that tournament in England that's been on the news. You heard me right. I want every crime organization in the world to know about it by tomorrow night. Much obliged."

Zato-1 finished on the phone, hung it up, and placed it back on the table. Letting out a long sigh, he began to lean back and relax a little. No sooner had he started than he heard a knock on his door. When that happened, he cracked a smile.

_Work. Work. Work._

"Who is it?"

"Floyd, boss. I tried getting in touch with you ever since you came back, but I've had a hard time getting where you're new home was."

Zato-1's dead eyes raised in a gesture of being pleased. Floyd was one of many specialists he had sent out to spy on the Post-War Administration Bureau after he was initially bonded with Eddie. He wanted them to infiltrate it to see if there were any dirty little secrets about his new friend he needed to know. Of course, at the time, he was still suspicious about the symbiote. That suspicion had since vanished. However, it was good to see a faithful follower from time to time. And he was a trusted mole. And so, he leaned back a little more and lifted out with his finger.

"Come in."

Zato-1's door was always unlocked. If someone came in and tried shooting him, Eddie would engulf him and protect against the bullet long before it reached him. In the next instant, Eddie would likely rip their heads off. And so, Floyd had little trouble opening the door and walking in.

"Come on over. Have a seat."

Surprisingly, Floyd hesitated before he moved. When he did come, he noticed that it was very slowly. Slower than his old step used to be. Not only that, but as he came closer…Zato-1 began to smell a lot of fear on him. Much more than what was on the guys who were just in here. This made him a bit puzzled. It seemed to take a long time for Floyd to finally get over there. When he was, he sat down on the couch where Mikey had been five minutes ago. He heard him lean deeper into it…seeming to put himself far from him and deep into the cushion. That was one good advantage of making sure your furniture creaked.

Zato-1 thought a moment…but then got a bit of a mischievous idea. As he smiled…Eddie suddenly peeled away from his body and assumed part of a torso. In response, he heard Floyd nearly choke and slide back even more. The fear scent doubled in potency.

"Say hello, Eddie." Zato-1 said with a smile. "Floyd, you remember Eddie. Say hi to Eddie, Floyd."

He heard a swallowing on the other side. Floyd stammered for a while before he forced his voice to become solid.

"…Hello Eddie." Came out in flat monotone.

Only now did Zato-1 get suspicious. He began to remember something when he subconsciously said it. Floyd had seen Eddie before. And, of course, he was intimidated by him. Yet he hadn't been this afraid of him. He realized that before he was just scared. Now he was terrified.

"Oh, don't worry, Floyd." Zato-1 answered calmly. "Eddie's a good doggie. He doesn't bite unless I tell him to."

"Zato-1…" Floyd suddenly interjected, sounding like he hadn't heard any of this. "I…I need to tell you something. But could you…put Eddie back inside you before I do?"

"Oh, stop being such a baby." Zato-1 nearly sneered, getting annoyed at this. "I told you once, Eddie doesn't-"

"_Please,_ Zato-1."

This made Zato-1 actually shut up. He hadn't heard a tone of voice this sharp and intense from Floyd in his entire life. The man genuinely wanted him to put Eddie back. Part of it was out of fear…but he could tell there was something else inside it too. And that made him hesitate for a moment…

What happened next, however, was truly confusing. He sensed something not from his own mind…but from _Eddie's_. He didn't like how he was being ordered away by this guy. Who was he, anyway? Who was he to drive away his best friend? The one who had saved him from oblivion? He had been far more faithful than any of these other spineless, gutless cowards. And now he was daring to talk to him like this? He should kick him out right now. No…he should kill him right now. Rip him open and see if he truly was gutless…

Although Zato-1 normally entertained thoughts of torturing and killing victims…this was abnormal. He didn't entertain the same thoughts about buddies. Yet this was the first time he ever had the crazy impulse to kill a friend of his. Even he hadn't gone that nuts. However, he knew the source. It was Eddie. The symbiote wanted to kill Floyd as ruthlessly as a typical victim. No…he wanted to do _worse_. Yet the shadow hadn't felt that way a moment ago. It was only when he wanted to say something to Zato-1 in private that he truly wanted to. That he started thinking these things…and forcing Zato-1 to think them too…

Until now, whenever Eddie gave Zato-1 impulses, he usually was of a like mind and took them. Yet this was the first time that Eddie had told him to do something that he honestly did not want to do. Until now, he doubted that the symbiote was even capable of suggesting such a thing. But he had. And with that in mind…Zato-1, for the first time in years, began to eye Eddie with a trace of suspicion. He didn't care for this thing trying to order him around. _He_ was the master here. And he desired to show the symbiote just that.

"You heard the man, Eddie. Get back."

The symbiote's head whirled around and gaped at him. It seemed hurt that he would call his faithful pet back. However…Zato-1 detected through their link another emotion behind that. One of irritation…even anger. That only made him more furiously order the shadow back inside him, though he did it mentally this time. Letting out just the smallest trace of a hiss…Eddie melted back into a puddle, attached itself to Zato-1, and then was reabsorbed into his skin. Soon, the thing was back inside him. When that was done, he turned fully to Floyd.

"Alright Floyd, he's inside." He said in a tone no longer merry or sneering, but serious. "Spill it."

Floyd was still very scared. That much was obvious. However, some fear had died back with Eddie's passing. And so, he had enough guts to lean forward a bit more. He moistened his lips and then began.

"You told me to find out if the PWAB was hiding anything about Eddie. So I got in. It took me months to finally have them put enough trust in me to even get a position inside it. Once I was in, it took even longer before I was able to find my way around the security measures to get to the proper consoles. It took even longer to hack them and find out about them before I came up with something.

"The Gear that had engineered Eddie used him to do all sorts of crazy sh't. He ate entire villages…poisoned water systems…infected computers with living viruses… It was like something out of a horror story."

Zato-1 merely smiled more. "I like him more already."

Floyd was obviously put off by this, and was silent for a few moments. However, in the end, he continued a bit further.

"At first the Gear called all the shots. Then this thing started to make suggestions. He acted on them. It kept on like this until Eddie made all the suggestions, and the Gear, not Eddie, acted on them. I don't know the whole story because the PWAB doesn't, but there were knights who only had a job to do watching him and spying on him. They were supposed to try and find a weakness of some kind. But the thing was…this Gear started to change. He started changing the way he walked, the way he dressed, the way he styled his hair… At first, he constantly second guessed himself. It was like watching some sort of psycho freak. He'd be in the middle of doing something one way, stop himself, let out a yell, and then do it another way. But he kept doing that less and less. And when he did that, they noticed that he was looking more and more…scared, or something. Like he was a guy losing his mind.

"Then they saw him one day while he was attacking a city. By that point, he had been acting one way for weeks…the newer way. He was in the middle of tearing apart a city block, when suddenly he screamed. He thrashed around like mad for a few minutes, and the knights watching him say that he and Eddie seemed to be fighting _each other_. Then at last they said they heard something like tar being scraped off of the sky or something…I don't know what they meant by that…but Eddie separated from this Gear. He turned into some puddle and fell to the ground. The Gear laughed like a lunatic for thirty seconds, like he was insanely happy…and then he died. That's the only natural death of a Gear ever recorded…though I doubt it was natural in any way…

"The knights imprisoned Eddie in some magical cage. Eventually the PWAB got ahold of it and studied it. They found a way to keep it alive separate from someone else. Here's what they found out…

"The damn thing isn't just alive, Zato-1. It's _conscious._ It knows what's going on around it. That's why I told you to put him away. It ain't no symbiote either. It's a parasite. They found out it was eating this Gear alive, but it wasn't eating his body. It was eating his _soul_ or something. It was taking him over. First he was just some sort of puppet for the Gear…but the Gear eventually became _its_ puppet. He doesn't want to be your shadow, Zato-1. He wants to be you. He wants to eat away at your soul until there's nothing left, and then he'll be the one in charge of _your_ body. That's why those PWAB bastards gave him to you. They didn't do it because you were the one studying that magic. They gave it to you because they didn't care what it did to you. No one would miss you."

Zato-1 was left frozen in his chair. The words of Floyd ran through his brain again and again, each one proclaiming a horror story fate worse than the last. This was what he had found out. He thought he had the enhanced shadow of a Gear. Yet Floyd said it was something much worse. It wasn't a symbiote at all. It was a parasite. For the moment…he was aghast. He couldn't believe it. At least as far as the PWAB was concerned, it made sense though. Why else would they have given him such an awesome weapon? They knew he was a criminal…an assassin. If Eddie had just been a source of power, they could have kept him for themselves. But they gave it to him. They wanted to see what kind of guinea pig he would turn out to be.

There was no reason for Floyd to lie to him. He was trusted, after all. He had worked for months to find this out. And yet…Zato-1 couldn't bring himself to completely accept what he was saying. Every time he was about to, some nagging voice in the back of his head told him to question it again. And so, he was left stuck there, thinking this over. He should have gone hysterical. He should have demanded a way to get it off. He should have tried to order it away now, the whole time thinking nice, pleasant thoughts that didn't have anything to do with his consciousness being swallowed alive by a black monster… And yet, in the end, all he could say was this.

"Are you sure?"

Floyd paused a moment, during which Zato-1 was sure he just stared at him blankly.

"Boss…you've got to get rid of it. Immediately. _Now_. I don't know if it's linked to your brain or something, but that Gear was never able to get rid of it once it started taking control. If it knows you're trying to stop it, it might be too late."

Zato-1 hesitated a moment. He turned his head down and exhaled, thinking about this again. He put a hand to his forehead and rubbed it.

"And how, pray tell, Floyd…" He spoke back in a more annoyed voice. "Am I supposed to get rid of my own shadow?"

"They've got specialists in the IPF." Floyd answered. "Guys devoted to taking care of stuff like this. They might be able to get it off-"

Zato-1's head snapped up, cutting him off.

"The IPF?" He nearly snapped. "That's the best you could come up with! Why don't I just give them an electric chair my size while I'm at it!"

"This thing is going to kill you, boss!" Floyd shouted back in a pleading voice. "It's going to do worse than kill you! You have to get rid of it at any cost!"

However, Zato-1 barely heard this now. A seed of doubt had been placed in his mind. Until now, something in the back of his head was wanting a reason to deny these claims and had found nothing. However, once Floyd had mentioned the IPF…something in his brain took root.

_So…this isn't about Eddie at all, is it? This is about me. You want me to go to the IPF. You want me to get on my hands and knees and grovel before them, begging to take this thing off of me while there's still time. And when they sentence me to over a thousand life sentences, or simply make me one of the rare executions…I'll at least see that I'm free of the "deadly parasite"._

_Free… Free for what? To rot in prison? To die in their hands? To feel the burning desire to walk outside and kill as I used to, and be stuck in some padded cell where they can experiment on me and dissect my brain? See what makes me tick? See if they can "prevent hopeless cases like Zato-1 in the future"? Make me into some lab rat? I'd kill myself before I let that happen. You know that Floyd._

_Yes…of course you know that._

_That's what this is about. You _want_ me to grovel before them. You want them to lock me away with the men in white coats forever, some poor little blind inmate with no eyes and no shadow. You want them to gape at me and turn me into their circus freak…all so that one day I'll hang myself on my own underwear strap. Isn't that what this is really about? _

_It makes perfect sense. So what if you've been my friend all these years? That was all a ruse, wasn't it? Get yourself fully into my good graces. Get me to like you and favor you. All the while, you'd be some pawn of a rival assassin…the whole time looking for a weakness…a way to get to me…a way to finally take me out. Me…the guy who even dimensional prison couldn't hold… You couldn't find one, could you? You couldn't find a way to kill me. You had to get me to kill myself. And surely I wouldn't doubt you, oh bestest buddy of mine…would I? You did say no one would miss me. That doesn't just go for the civilized world, does it? It goes for this world too._

_And what was the only way you could get me to kill myself? By turning me on my _true_ best friend. The one who's given me everything I've ever wanted and more. The only one who ever understood me. You want us to be apart. You want me to hate him. If I do…then I'll be weak. I'll be mortal. _

_You made up that crap about the Gear, didn't you? Made it up so I'd hate Eddie. Made it up so I would cast him aside. Well…nothing doing. Eddie _loves_ me. Eddie's the best friend I've ever had. I was some miserable mortal before. Now I'm a god. Now I'm death incarnate. The bond we have together is so much more than love. It's fate. It's destiny. We were meant to unite into one glorious being. No one…nothing…certainly not some two-face, so-called "friend" is going to stand in our way…_

Zato-1 became surprisingly calm all of the sudden. He leaned back a bit more in his chair. He could sense Floyd stopping at this. He, however, folded his hands over in front of him, and was no longer miffed, angry, or strained.

"Well Floyd…you seem to have done quite a bit of research for me. I seem to owe you quite a lot. Your concerns, of course, are well noted. Now, as to a fitting reward for all that you gave me…and all that you _planned_ for me…"

Floyd sounded confused when he spoke up. "Planned? Boss, what are you…"

"Eddie." Zato-1 called out to within him. The shadow was already lifting off of his body when he continued. "Rip his skin off and then eat him from the inside."

There really was nothing like that scream.

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: Root for the Badguy...


	10. Root for the Badguy

Hey everyone. Sorry this has been so late. I'm working on two stories right now, one of which has to be done as much as possible before Monday. I'm going on vacation then and I won't be able to write for some time. That means that there won't be any more updates for about ten days. I have another one after this one, but I'm spacing it out.

* * *

**"Root for the Badguy"**

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me. There's got to be something."

"I'm sorry sir. All public transports to England had been grounded for the duration of the emergency."

"What emergency? He's hosting a tournament! He's not threatening the planet! How are people supposed to get there if you won't let people on England?"

"On a personal note, I would say private. I'm sorry I can't help you anymore, sir."

Kliff Undersn's already knotty face turned into an irritated frown. He hadn't been this energetic in years. Of course, it hadn't really done much good. He was left standing at this booth, getting a line behind him, and talking to some pretty airhead selling tickets and getting nowhere fast. With a grunt, he hoisted Dragonslayer (still concealed, of course) on his back and began to turn to leave.

"Mr. Undersn?"

The squat man turned back and looked to the booth and the woman there, feeling a sense of hopefulness for a moment.

What he saw, however, was her blushing and looking rather embarrassed. A sappy grin was on her face. "Could you…give me your autograph?"

Kliff's face turned black. By the time he had walked back over and hastily scrawled out a message on a ticket stub, the woman was shrinking back and looking a bit scared at how much irritation and anger Kliff's persona bore. It wasn't like he cared. She had been no help whatsoever, and yet she wanted his autograph. He resisted the urge to write, "Eat sh't and die", above his name. She was lucky she could make out the "K" and "U" with how hard and fierce he sketched. However, as soon as he was done, he turned and got out of there. The others in the line had been irritated until now, but their irritation was swiftly turning to wonder as they overheard what the woman had said.

Seconds later, and Kliff was emerging from the port authority onto the street. He moved like a man with a purpose and a lot of anger as he went down the steps, entered traffic, and began to walk down the road. He soon caused a stir. His massive sword was wrapped up, but seeing as it was longer than he was tall it took up a lot of the sidewalk. People had to scramble out of the way, and initially he didn't care. He was up a creek. That was all he knew.

Kliff didn't have a lot of money on him. He only lived off of his pension. Of course, gifts had been offered in the past, and at the current moment he wished he would have taken enough to buy his own plane. As it was, he had turned them down. What money he did have was almost gone now. He had used it to get himself from Switzerland to IPF headquarters, and then into the old Normandy region of France. At the HQ they had told him to stay out of it, but like he was going to take orders from them. They could just try and stop him and see just how small and old he really was. Yet there were more ways to stop him than physically, it appeared. They had locked down all transports to England. He was sure that those with money were running in anyway right now, but that didn't help him.

England was uninhabited, but it did have some tourist appeal. After all, it was like one gigantic Wordsworth poem now. "Tintern Abbey" on a huge scale. Lots of ruins of the old world. What native birds and plants were still there were gradually recolonizing it too. So it had natural beauty as well. Yet you could only get public transports to it from Normandy. And even if you did get over there, it usually had to be as part of an "eco-tour" or natural history group. Only the yuppies usually indulged in such fantasies. Whoever this guy was, he had to have planned this move right when no one was visiting the island. At least…he _hoped_ he was. If he had enough power to blow away a smaller island and break open that superprison, then what he could do to any poor soul abandoned on the island would likely be horrific…

Kliff only had enough money for one of these public transports, but that had just proven to be a bust. He was famous enough to run around town a bit, and probably could raise some funds pretty quickly. But it would still take a day or two to get enough for a plane ticket. Besides, those were likely shut down as well. And there weren't any private jets or boats taking off from an official port authority or airfield that would be going there. His only chance was to look for connections to private craft. He was welcome in almost any bar or inn on the face of the Earth. Still…it might take time to find one. And time was something he didn't have. Already he regretted stopping by IPF HQ.

Kliff frowned a bit. He was getting tired of walking down this sidewalk. He was having to swerve a lot to miss others himself, and Dragonslayer was making his already small, unusually ripped body stick out. All people had to do now was see what kind of person would carry such a weapon…and they'd recognize the national hero. Attention was what he really didn't want right now unless it was from someone who could help him. He doubted he'd run into one on the street. He needed a better plan, and he needed to get away from these people.

In the end, Kliff turned into an alley. It was night now, and only street lights provided illumination. As he eased into the darkness, he immediately felt more relief. This wasn't a simple alley that merely went between two buildings. This one twisted and turned a bit up ahead to make room for poor architectural planning. Yet that was fine by him. He had gone through so many of these things in his time that he knew the layout of each one. They made good hiding/ambush places.

Kliff went past the first building, to the end of the first stretch of alley, and then turned to the right. Another stretch met him, surrounded by more buildings. It was darker back here. However, he wasn't afraid. He couldn't see or hear anyone. Even if he could, it wouldn't matter…

The man walked forward a bit more in the darkness. He inhaled and exhaled a few times, before taking in a deeper breath and whistling. As he made his way down the alley, he slowly slightly, before he ceased to whistle. He took two more steps after that, slow and casual…

Then, abruptly, he snapped around, flung the covering off of Dragonslayer, and aimed it directly behind him at a new person's neck.

The person stood still. One of his eyebrows was raised. He could count the people on Earth on one hand who he couldn't sneak up on. Now, however, it appeared he'd need the finger on his other hand too.

Kliff himself kept the wide blade aimed at his throat, so obscuring the other man that he could only see his head and neck, and the point of his sword against it. The two men froze. Kliff's eyes were narrowed and deadly. The other man was expressionless.

At last, the older man spoke.

"If I lopped off your head right now, I'd get quite a reward from the IPF."

The man simply stared back without change.

"That you would." He calmly answered, his voice deep and flowing…almost like the ocean, it seemed.

The two men stayed frozen a bit longer.

Then, together, both burst into smiles and started to laugh at the situation. They did so for a good long time, longer than Kliff could remember. It had to have been at least a full minute. Although his sword stayed pointed at the man's throat, both of them no longer seemed to be thinking about it.

In the end, Kliff cocked his head with a grin. "Well, well…seems I'm not the only one getting slow in my old age. I've actually got you."

The man's smile didn't fade in the least.

"That's what you think."

A slight push went against Kliff underneath the sword. It was something hard and metal. When he felt it, Kliff's smile slowly faded. He looked down, but could see nothing under Dragonslayer. Slowly, he pulled it away, not at all worried about the man doing something to him, and looked to see what was beneath it.

Though his sword was indeed at the man's throat, his opponent had moved even faster. The stock of a shotgun was resting in his hands, previously hidden under the sword, and now the barrel of it rested lightly in front of Kliff's genitals.

Kliff raised his own eyebrow now. "I suppose not." He simply said, sounding a bit uncomfortable at that position. He looked up a moment later to the other man and gave a shrug. "I suppose you got me. How many times does this make?"

"I stopped counting at 300 to 0." The man answered with a smile as he pulled the gun away, and then, as if it was so much rubbish, lightly tossed it to one side. "Although, I'm surprised that stopped you. I mean, how old are you now? Would it matter?"

"Pompous young-looking punk." Kliff snorted in response. "If I wasn't so chaste, I'd be living it up like a pimp. Women used to throw themselves at me."

"Except when I was around." The man answered with a turn of the head.

Kliff kept his frown. "That's right. I never cared much myself, but that's probably the main reason the rest of the knights didn't like you. Especially since you didn't care one way from a hole in a stump."

"Well, being out of the Sacred Order certainly has made you crude." The other answered by putting his arms on his hips. "I'd wash your mouth out with soap for saying that if this was seventy years earlier."

Kliff crossed his own arms and leveled his frown at the man, but the side of his mouth was a cracked smile. "You going to keep yacking it up all night in this alley, or are you going to shut up long enough for me to walk you into a bar for a drink?"

The man smiled wider. "I thought you'd never ask."

Moments later, and both smiling men were walking side by side down the rest of the alley. Kliff Undersn stood on the left, Dragonslayer wrapped up again and on his back, and his earliest friend, oldest mentor, and father figure walked alongside.

Sol Badguy had come back into Kliff's life for the third time.

* * *

An hour later, and Kliff was polishing off his fifth while Sol had taken only his second sip from his first at a local dive. There were plenty of other good places in town, but those ones might look too promising. Kliff wanted a place where there was a chance of a good deal of rough customers, ones who didn't want to be found and didn't want others to recognize them either. To that end, they found themselves in a dimly lit, grimy, smoky bar lounge near the waterfront. It was full of large people drinking and complaining about being grounded, but no fights had broken out yet. 

Kliff couldn't help but marvel at the appearance of Sol Badguy. The man was like someone out of a dream or a story. No matter how many times you saw him, he was always the same as last time. His face had not aged a wrinkle. His black spike hair was still slung over his head, kept out of his eyes by that same red metal headband he had worn years ago. He kept wearing black, gauntleted gloves with straps, and a black sleeveless t-shirt. He wore something of a red vest strapped across his chest, although it looked almost like and accessory. Yet Kliff new better. Mostly, his powerful, firm, perfect muscles were shown off. He had numerous straps holding the rest of his clothing in place. As for his white pants and the red sash he wore in between, as well as the vest and belt buckle, all were pieces of a Holy Knight uniform he once wore.

"So you aren't keeping the Fireseal on you?" Kliff asked, noticing that since throwing away the shotgun, Sol wasn't armed.

"No." Sol simply answered. "And for that matter, I left my special forehead press-on bull's eyes at home too."

Kliff snorted with a smile. "I suppose I deserved that for asking such a stupid question. So what are you up to when you aren't dodging IPF members?"

"Same thing I did before I joined up with the Sacred Order." Sol answered. "Wandering. Getting work here and there. Keeping an ear out for news. Most of those who I agree to work for are too desperate to care about having a wanted felon help them."

Kliff looked at the man a bit longer in silence. In the end, he snickered again and shook his head. "Damn, Sol…" He said out loud. "Why in God's name did you ever take the Fireseal in the first place? You'd have been an international hero instead of a thug."

Sol simply leaned back a bit and looked up to Kliff. "So you wish the lifestyle you enjoy right now on me as well?"

Kliff turned a bit sour, and gave another shrug as he went for his beer. "You've got a point there. But it would beat being a world-wide fugitive."

"What would you say if I told you that both the Fireseal and the Thunderseal are actually mine?"

Kliff paused in mid-sip. He looked up to Sol again. The man looked perfectly calm and serious. Slowly, he pulled his drink away from his lips and set it back down. He cocked his head once, and then leaned back a bit.

"If it was anyone else, Frederick, I'd say they were full of it. But you…Mr. Seventy-Years-Later-Still-Looking-Like-He's-Twenty-Something… Guy who smacked around a Gear like he was some skinny twerp when we were still trying to see if that was possible… I'd go ahead and take your word for it."

"It's mine." Sol simply answered.

"Ok then." Kliff nodded, and then took another swig of his own drink. There was another pause of silence between the two men. After Kliff put it down, he looked over to Sol again. "I don't suppose you care to know how Ky's doing."

"I don't suppose he's doing anything more than being a good little bulldog for the IPF, blindly following the slightest order, jumping whenever they clap their hands, and relentlessly persecuting whoever is unholy in the eyes of the pure and noble Ky Kiske, is he?"

Kliff couldn't help but break into a chuckle. "Damn, Frederick… You sure got him pegged. I'd almost love to see the color change on his face after telling that to him."

"Why don't you?" Sol simply answered, not sounding like he had made a joke at all. "You're a national hero and you've never committed a crime. He'll be forced to swallow his pride and say, 'Thank you sir, may I please have another?'"

Kliff drank again and shook his head. "Fred…that's one thing I never could stand about you. You never did like him. I suppose if I was any other joker I might have agreed with you, but I did pick him to succeed me."

"I'm not saying that was a bad choice." Sol responded.

"But you never did really like him."

"I won't say I liked or hated him." Sol simply answered. "The fact was I saw his character flaw, and six years later he's still immersed in it. That shows weakness on the part of a man to me."

Kliff frowned as he set his glass down. "Well, I can drink to that…" He grumbled. "When I left, there were all sorts of crummy SOBs running around in the order. But Ky had enough of Dudley-Do-Right in him to make up for the lot of them and then some. I kind of hoped you two would have gotten together. I thought he might have learned something from you."

"I was never anything but some guy killing Gears for money to him." Sol said as he finally took his third sip. "Nothing more."

"I really think you're wrong." Kliff answered. "I think he did get to respect you a bit."

"Not anymore."

Kliff's frown turned a bit more regretful. He leaned back in his chair a bit and lowered his head to the ground. "No…not anymore."

Another pause went between the men. Someone got angry in the back and started a ruckus, but both of them ignored it. They were focused too much on the conversation.

At last, Kliff raised his head.

"Why don't you just give it back?"

"I told you. It's mine."

"Aw, who the hell cares? If it would get the IPF off your back…"

"Exactly how many thieves do you know were completely acquitted simply by returning what they stole?" Sol cut off. "I could have robbed 80 credits from a convenient store and they'd still prosecute me if I gave back double the amount. I steal something priceless and sacred and they'll want my blood or my life in a cell for eternity. Ky would. And then what? I'd have to escape in the end, and once I did they'd be just as mad, and Ky would be on the warpath again."

Kliff snorted and went for his drink again. "I wish you two sons of bitches would have it out already."

"Kliff…"

That word was said so firm that it made the older man freeze. He looked up to Sol in response, and saw that the man was staring hard at him.

"I knocked out Ky for several reasons before I went to fight Justice in that last battle. But one of them _wasn't_ because I thought he would do worse than me in a fight. You picked a great successor in terms of power. Ky isn't some guy I can just knock around. He's the only human I've ever met who I honestly believe could kill me. If there was ever a fight between us, we wouldn't just bash each other around and call it a day. I might…but he's obsessed. He wants me dead for what I did. So the only way it would end is with one of us dead. Even if I could knock Ky out, he'd just come after me again twice as mad next time. You may be right. It may have been stupid for me to take the Fireseal at the end of the war if for only this reason. There's no way it's ever going back now except over someone's dead body."

Sol was deadly serious. Even if Kliff had no idea what he was talking about, he would know how serious he was. However, he knew Sol was telling the truth. Ky was too stubborn and too lethal. There wasn't going to be any peace between them…not without one of them giving up something they weren't willing to yield. The part that scared him the most about that statement, however, was what Sol said about Ky's power. Sol had always been serious about everything. If he said that Ky could actually kill him in a fight, then he believed him. Still…the thought shocked him. It was like saying that a guy could blow up the Rocky Mountain chain with his bare hands.

Both men leaned back, and there was silence between the two of them once again for a short while. Kliff left his drink untouched for a while before setting it back down. The clamor continued in the back.

At last, Kliff looked up to Sol again.

"I'm guessing you didn't come visit me just as a social call."

Sol looked back normally, but responded quickly. "I take it that you've heard about the message that was broadcast everywhere around the world two days ago."

Kliff cocked his head slightly. He began to reach his hand into his pocket. "Actually…" He answered, and after fishing around a moment grabbed something. He pulled it out a moment later, and then tossed it in front of Sol. It was a crumpled, sweat-worn, white card. "I've done one better."

Sol didn't hesitate, but reached down and took up the card immediately. He unfolded it and read what was inside. It was in neat printed ink, but in a font that suggested some flowery writing like an invitation.

* * *

Kliff Undersn…you have been selected by special invitation to attend the tournament on England to prevent the return of Justice. 

See your local television station for details.

* * *

"That was all." Kliff answered. "No special instructions. No tickets. Nothing else." 

Sol stared at the card a moment longer. He seemed to be studying it, although there was little in the way of clues to digest. In the end, he folded it again and set it back on the table in front of Kliff.

"I went to the International Police Force HQ first." Kliff continued, finally drinking further. "On the way, I got an earful of what was going on. I got there…showed them the card…and basically said that I intended to honor it. I would have gone alone. That's the way I wanted it, seeing as, as far as any of us know, I'm the only one who got picked out specifically. But they gave me all this bull about me being a civilian now." He snorted. "Another way of saying, 'You're retired, old man. Leave it to us young pricks.' They already sent Ky out anyway."

"I'm sure that plenty of minor fighters are going out there." Sol answered. "Anyone serious going out?"

Kliff frowned. "You think those guys would tell me?"

"No." Sol answered, but then followed up with a smile. "But I'm sure that you still have at least some connections there that would be willing to let ol' Kliff know after a bit of suggestion."

Kliff hesitated a moment, but then smiled back.

"I suppose they would." He answered. "They don't have a whole lot of intel yet. Sure enough, lots of idiots, half of them drunk, are trying to get out there and try their luck. They've got seven others than Ky who look like they have some promise. One's being sent by Zepp. A real hulk, this guy. They sic him on tanks from what I heard. Don't know anything else but that. Zepp keeps its guys secret though it brags about the aftermath. Ky, of course, is the boy the IPF is sending." He paused here, and took in a deeper breath. "Something that doesn't sit really well with me is that the PWAB is sending some guy."

Sol did raise an eyebrow at this. "The PWAB?"

"I have no idea how long they consider the 'post-war' era is supposed to last, but after six years it doesn't look like they're eager to disband anytime soon." Kliff grumbled. "And the guy they sent is a real peach, too. They had him stored in the deepest part of the Manchurian Superprison. Not even Justice could break into that spot. Some real psycho. A magical serial killer. He was pretty good at what he did too. Ever hear about ol' Dr. Baldhead?"

Sol stiffened slightly. "I have, actually." It passed soon after. "Anyone else?"

"Well, those are the 'legal' ones." Kliff answered. "But there's more. The head of the Assassin Syndicate has been putting out a lot of rumors that he's going to be attending. However, I don't think he's really interested in the tournament himself. There's another rumor that he's trying to attract another assassin. At any rate, both of them are messed up. I heard something how they've been studying the Six Forbidden Magics. No one is sure what exactly they let them do, but based on their victims it's not pretty."

"Anyone else?"

"There's this vigilante that's been running around St. Louis the past few days. He's been killing assassins left and right. He got word of the Assassin Syndicate making their play here, and so it looks like they're going to have some unwanted attention. Another guy…some mystery man. He looks like he's just regular stuff, but he's messed up a few guys with pyrokinetics. The IPF thinks it might be an unregistered class C, and they're keeping an eye on him as he goes out there. Last but not least, radar showed some plane coming out of the middle of the Pacific, headed right for England. Based on what it's like, it was probably one of the Jellyfish Air Pirates. They busted their leader earlier, and they had to have seen the news report where our host broke into the Manchurian Superprison. They're betting that one of them wants to win this tournament to bail him out."

Sol leaned back a bit more, seeming to take this all in. "I don't suppose they have anything on the host himself or herself, do they?"

"Well, everyone's calling it a him, although they really have no idea." Kliff answered with a shrug. "Sexism and all that. Anyway, they really haven't come up with anything yet. He has to have some connections and access to some great technology. Some of it might be from before the Crusades. He has to have his hands on some Gear weaponry at least. There's no other way he could have broken into that Superprison without it."

"Unless he was a Gear himself."

This made Kliff freeze momentarily. There had been a lot of other possibilities that he thought Sol would suggest, but what he had just said had not been one of them. He looked up to him afterward, and gave him a strange look. Sol, however, had not changed. He still seemed to be thinking of things.

"Justice is gone, Sol."

"I know that."

"Is there anything you know of that could break the seal on him?"

Sol shook his head. "Not a single thing, but I don't know everything."

Kliff gave a shrug. "So what? Justice wasn't exactly the type to lay low. Not as much as he loved to take a chance to hurt people. The Gears in the world are still inactive. They're just waiting around to be killed by some hunting party. Without a Command Gear to lead them, they're not going to do anything. So a Gear couldn't have come up that would be misbehaving."

"This person, whoever he is," Sol answered back. "Was saying something about Justice returning."

Kliff gave a shrug. "So? He's full of it."

"Why would he bother saying something like that then?" Sol simply answered. "If he wanted to scare someone, no one would fall for it. He hasn't acted like a stupid person in not understanding that simple fact. What other reason would there be to mention it unless he was telling the truth?"

"Maybe he's delusional." Kliff answered with a grunt, going for his drink again. "I know full well nothing can break that seal. So do you. End of story."

Sol looked up to him…and his burning gaze halted Kliff while he raised his glass.

"If you honestly believed that…then why are you so desperate to handle this matter all by yourself?"

Kliff didn't move. He stared back at Sol, but the man just stared back calmly, not moving or shifting in the least. Kliff felt a wave of unease coming into him. Perhaps he had been right. Perhaps he didn't truly believe anything could bring Justice back. But somewhere inside him…there was something that had made Sol guess correctly. There was a gnawing feeling in his stomach. If he really wanted to go down fighting at the end of his career, there were plenty of other IPF affairs he could have meddled in. But Justice…Justice had been the one opponent he had never defeated no matter how many times they fought to the death… Even the subconscious thought of a chance would have been enough to bring him out of retirement…

Kliff set his glass down without taking a drink.

"I don't suppose _you_ know something I don't?"

"As far as Justice is concerned, no." Sol answered, looking away again. "I have no basis for believing that he could possibly return. But I'd be lying if I said that the idea didn't attract me here in the first place. Yet as far as Gears are concerned…"

Sol paused here, sipping his drink for the fourth time.

Kliff eyed him, but on not getting a ready answer he polished off his own and slammed it down, a signal for a seventh. "What?" He asked as he choked the last of it back.

"What if I was to tell you that the original Gears weren't made from scratch?" Sol answered. "What if I was to further tell you that they used average, living, breathing humans as the materials at one point?"

Kliff leaned back on hearing this. He showed nothing, but he continued to eye Sol. He did have some intrigue in his eyes.

"Finally…" Sol concluded, making his voice a bit quieter. "What if I was to tell you that the Post-War Administration Bureau had both the information and technology necessary to produce its own Gears from existing humans?"

Kliff's eyes widened a bit. Realizing how Sol had lowered his voice, he looked around himself a bit, and then leaned in closer across the table.

"I trust you far too much to call you a liar about anything, Fred, no matter how crazy or impossible it sounds." He nearly whispered back. "But if this is true, then how do you know about this?"

"Let's just say I got around quite a bit long before I met you seventy years ago." Sol answered. "And I don't know of any individuals they might have carried this out on. But I know they could do it. In theory, these Gears should have been as subservient to Command Gears like Justice as the regular ones. But there's always a possibility of mutation or malfunction. A soul isn't an easy thing to get rid of."

Kliff paused a bit longer, waiting for Sol to say anything else. When he didn't, however, he leaned back a bit more in his chair, crossed his own arms, and gave a shrug.

"Alright…let's see if we got this all. Let's assume you're right. Let's assume that somehow this guy is, in fact, a Gear. Let's assume he was manufactured but had enough independence to move around even with Justice sealed away. And let's assume, since we're both thinking it, that although this guy somehow has enough independence to move around on his own, he doesn't have enough to free himself from Justice and wants to find a way to bring him back to this dimension. Now, it's crazy enough to hear about a Gear disobeying Justice in any way in the first place, but let's keep making asses out of you and me and keep assuming. Where exactly does that leave us? Why would this guy go to all of this trouble to make a Sacred Order to stop Justice if he wants to bring him back? Why host this tournament? Why go to all these theatrics that he's performed? If anything, he's made it clear he wants people there. But where do they factor into it?"

"I don't know how they factor into his plans, or why he wants them dead." Sol answered simply.

However, this made Kliff react again. "Wants them dead? Where did you get that?"

"The only thing that we know for certain is that this person wants a tournament." Sol simply answered. "And he's gone to extreme lengths to attract contestants. He's also made it clear that he doesn't necessarily want 'good' people being the only ones competing. That indicates that he doesn't have much real interest in forming a second Sacred Order of Holy Knights. He wants anyone from serial killers to boy scouts like Ky fighting. If all of those people are confined into one space, they'll likely kill each other. Especially since the less scrupulous ones know they have to beat the others to get to the host. The logical outcome of this is that only the strongest competitor will even survive the tournament."

Kliff frowned, but thought this over. To him, it did make sense. Sol always did have a way of seeing more hidden messages inside things.

"So…" He spoke in response. "He gets his message out everywhere so he reaches every potential fighter, brings them in, and finds out who's the best. That would mean he would find the best in the world. Why? What does that have to do with anything else?"

"Again, I don't know." Sol answered. "And nothing yet comes to mind. It seems the only way for me to find out anything else is to play his game."

Kliff raised an eyebrow.

"So…you really are competing? That's why you're in town?"

Sol looked back to him calmly. "Surprised?"

"Yes, actually." Kliff answered. "I haven't seen you active in anything for years. And it was half a century between the first two times I saw you."

Sol merely smiled in response. "I'd still say it's a lucky break for you."

Kliff was surprised. "Me?"

"You need a lift to England, right?"

Kliff hesitated a moment, but then cracked a grin. "As a matter of fact, I do actually."

"I bought a small two-man boat with my last bounty." Sol responded. "It's docked outside of town. It's not a luxury liner, but it could get across the English Channel well enough. Plenty of room for an old friend. But I want to make sure you're serious about doing this."

Kliff gave a nod. "You're damn right, I am."

However, Sol didn't immediately greet this with enthusiasm. "You're sure? This isn't going to be easy. And if Justice really is involved somehow…"

"…If Justice himself crawled back into the land of the living, I'd yell for joy." Kliff cut off. "I can't think of anyone better I'd like to get cut down by. I'm getting old, Frederick. I haven't got much stuff left in me. If I'm going to burn out, I might as well do it here. And you know full well I don't have any family hoping I come home safe and sound."

This didn't help Sol's mood. In fact, he looked somewhat regretful about it.

"…I know." He answered with a bit of an exhale. He was silent afterward.

Kliff crooked an eyebrow. "What's up with you?"

Sol bowed his head slightly and exhaled again, and then looked back up to Kliff. "When I told you that back at your hometown…I didn't mean that you should lose the chance to have a family or-"

Kliff sighed and rolled his eyes. "Oh, don't start with that now."

"I've always just wondered if it was my fault that-"

"That what, Frederick?" Kliff cut off. "That I spent almost every moment not eating, sleeping, or sh'tting hunting Gears for most of my life? I never was a family man, Frederick. To me, I had the biggest family of all. The whole world was my family to look out for and protect. I've had plenty of friends, and I've seen a lot of them pass away. Now I'm surrounded every waking moment by sycophantic suck-ups that I can barely stomach. The real torture I've lived through is having to be a civilian for the past six years. My biggest regret is that I retired. I should have kept fighting until I dropped…_especially_ since you and Ky took down Justice just a year later. I let you young bastards show me up. Well…I've got enough for this. I sure as hell ain't backing down now, especially after all you've told me. Besides…this guy called me out. I know for a fact I'm not the strongest in the world anymore, so he must have something on for me. I'm not going to sit here and wait to find out. So as long as you're offering that position in that boat, you can count me in."

Sol stared back at him for a while. Kliff wasn't changing, however. And yet he did see something in Sol's eyes. He saw something that seemed to be seventy years later. He could tell that Sol wasn't seeing him as the old, gnarled man he had become. He was seeing him as the kid he had rescued years ago. Though time hadn't changed Sol but had hit Kliff hard, somehow the man could see inside him to the young spirit that still remained ageless. Perhaps he saw again how much he had grown since that day. Yet still, he was a life he had saved once. He was a life he had told to devote to saving others. And though a lot of time had gone by, he now was wondering whether or not that edict would be the death of the one he had tried to spare. To the eyes of one who never aged, how old _was_ an old man?

In the end, those eyes turned back to normal again. Sol managed a smile.

"Alright. One final mission."

* * *

A little later, and both men were walking side by side again. This time, however, they were headed out of town. It wasn't that far to the outskirts, so there was no need to get a lift from anywhere. Once again, Kliff's tab hadn't cost anything. It never did. It was getting late by now. Most people were turning in for the day if they weren't out doing things they weren't supposed to be doing. Hence the two men were able to stay on the pretty open, public roads. Hero or no hero, Kliff wasn't going to be able to get Sol out of being pestered by a ego-tripping IPF member. 

"Well, you know what's bringing me on this mission." Kliff said as they walked along. "What brings you out of hiding?"

"Exactly what the person said." Sol simply answered, continuing to look forward. "The possibility of Justice coming back."

Kliff walked on a bit more at that, but gave a shrug. "Even if there is a chance of that happening, even if this guy is a Gear who doesn't need to be given orders, so what? You could still let Ky handle it."

"If I wanted Ky to handle it, I would have let him fight Justice and conducted the seal myself six years ago." Sol responded. "If this really has to do with him, then I've got to be the one."

Kliff looked a bit uneasier on hearing that. He walked forward for a bit more, but scratched the side of his head. "No offense, Frederick…" He answered in a dimmer voice. "But you were never a match for Justice alone. Hell, you're probably the strongest man in the world, but from what I heard there was one guy sitting and bleeding on the ground when Ky got to you two, and it wasn't Justice. If he is somehow kicking around again, are you sure that you want to go up against him?"

"Again, no offense…but you're in far more inferior shape than I am." Sol countered. "And that's not stopping you from going on this mission."

Kliff gave a shrug at that. "Touche."

"Keep in mind that even if this person is human and Justice isn't involved, this will still be far from easy and might just be the hardest mission we've ever been on." Sol continued. "These other fighters, especially the criminals, probably won't have any problem killing either of us. If people see me, they might think they'll get a bonus by collecting the reward. Even if I'm the best, I know it will inevitably come down to me and Ky. And like I said earlier…if it does, only one of us is going to walk away. That's the only way Ky would have it. And as for you…so long as he doesn't see you and me together, he might lay off of you. But if you insist on moving in, he'll probably give you a spiel on this being police business. He might attack you too. He might spare you, but not if he finds out you've been with me."

Kliff merely frowned and gave a grunt. "Ky might be tough stuff, but he's still a young punk. This old man was bashing Gears' heads in decades before he started toddling in diapers. If he gives me any trouble, I'll just have to give him some trouble Kliff Undersn style. Needless to say, though, I'm guessing that since we're having this conversation right now that we're making a pact of sorts."

Sol raised an eyebrow at this and turned to Kliff. "Really? What kind of pact?"

"That we aren't going to try to carve each other up." Kliff simply answered. "Not that I'd be crazy enough to do so in the first place. Ky, in old man's jargon, can be a real 'whippersnapper', but I know that compared to you I'm the young son-of-a-bitch. I've got no wish to fight you. So we can make that deal."

Sol, however, said nothing. He looked at Kliff a bit longer, expressionlessly. In the end, he turned away and looked back ahead again.

This, however, made Kliff uncomfortable. He raised an eyebrow.

"…Should I take this to mean that _you_ have a wish to fight _me_?"

"No."

"Then what should I take it as?"

"I never commit to anything I'm not absolutely sure about." Sol responded. "I don't want to lift a blade against you. However, things can change. Promises we make can be broken by circumstances we never dreamed of. After the war ended, a lot of soldiers pledged to never fight a Gear again. I did not, and it seems as if this is a good reason for not ever having done so. Now it seems like wisdom on my part to not be so eager to relinquish the Fireseal. I have no idea what awaits us on England. But it could make us enemies."

Kliff didn't like the way that Sol said this. He was an old man now, and after this fight he probably would have less than a year left in him. Nothing monumental seemed to have the time to occur to possibly split the two of them up at this point. However…Sol, like always, seemed deadly serious. Kliff wasn't able to say anything else after that. He looked away and kept walking, their conversation suddenly having taken a very dark turn.

The two men walked about another two blocks without either saying anything. The homes began to thin out, and Sol started to lead them closer to the shore. The night was getting later. The silence was finally broken again, but not by Kliff.

"…Do you ever look on them with pity, Kliff?"

The old man turned back to Sol in confusion. "What?"

"The Gears." Sol answered, as he kept walking out.

Kliff frowned in response. "Why should we? It's not like they look on us with pity. We're just animals to be destroyed according to them."

"Because they're only doing what they were created to do." Sol continued. "Kill humans. That's all they know. And if we're angry at them for that, then we should really hate ourselves. That's exactly what we wanted them to do. Kill our enemies for us. We didn't give them lives or parents or homes or anything else to live for except death. And that's how we wanted them. Even Justice wasn't fighting just to cause humans to die. He was fighting in order to let himself and the Gears live.

"And now look at them. Justice is gone. They're just standing around now. They can't do anything else except wait for their executioners. Years ago, it was because they were mercilessly killed, mocked, and abused by their executers that Justice rebelled. And what's happening now? People who think they're heroes because they're going out to put bullets in the heads of motionless Gears are having their fun with them. I've seen some tied to cars. Others get buried in cement. Others just get punched around. If that was you…if you saw a bunch of helpless humans being tortured by a world of Gears just that way…wouldn't you have done the same thing? Wouldn't you have revolted?"

Kliff was silent. His frown had faded. Again, Sol displayed that ability to get into him the way no one else could. When he put it in that terminology, he supposed he couldn't just think of them as bio-weapons. He had to admit…if one of them had become self-aware and realized that, then he couldn't blame it for doing what it did. And yet…

Kliff shrugged. "Hindsight is 20-20, Frederick. We can muse over this stuff now because we're safely the winners of the Crusades. Who knows? Maybe if the Gears had won, they'd be thinking the same thing about us. The fact of the matter is that there can be only one of us."

"Why?" Sol answered. "What if it was possible to give them consciousness? What if-"

"No one in the world would allow you to do that, and if you tried everyone would kill you before you could." Kliff flatly cut off. "You go spewing that stuff around, Frederick, and I'm going to start thinking you're crazy. For better or for worse, the Gears are best off how they are right now…immobile. There isn't a person on Earth other than you who's probably wanting them to go around able to choose one way or another. And if they were, those Gears would be dead inside a week. There's no going back, Frederick. End of story. They're weapons that never should have been created in the first place, and now it's best for everyone if they're gone. There sure as hell ain't going to be a world that wants Gears running around like normal people in my lifetime, and even if you live another two thousand years there won't be in your lifetime either."

"You and I have both killed hundreds of Gears." Sol answered, not letting it go. "That makes the both of us at least as deadly as some of the worst Gears. If they want to get rid of someone just because they're dangerous, then why don't they kill us?"

"In case you haven't noticed, a lot of people _do_ want you dead." Kliff snorted. "And if I hadn't spent half a century fighting the damn things, they might want me gone too. People are idiots, Sol. I'm sure you know that better than me. They think the way they want to think and decide the way they want to decide. Even if there was a good Gear out there, this world would never accept it. And you and I both know that they never will."

Sol was silent after this. Kliff barely noticed this…but his step had slowed. It was as if he was regretting something. This only confused the old man. He had never seen Sol acting this weird. A little while ago he was his dark old self…and now he was acting as if he was weeping over Rome burning. He seemed to take what Kliff had said very personally. Why was that? He didn't know, but as he kept looking downcast it began to upset the old warrior. He started to shift a little.

"…Look…"

"No, you're right." Sol abruptly said, and immediately he was the same as before. "That's the truth. It's just one that I didn't want to accept. But it sounds more real when I hear it from someone else."

This still didn't leave Kliff that comfortable. "But-"

"We'll be there pretty soon." Sol cut off. "After that, we'll have a bit of a ride ahead of us and a long day tomorrow. We might rest in the boat for a while before we head out."

Kliff eyed Sol darkly. He knew that what he had just said had been a vague translation of, "I don't want to talk about it anymore. Let's drop it." Still, it unsettled him. Sol had killed hundreds of Gears, that was true. He was probably the first man ever to do it. So why was he suddenly caring about them? Kliff had never run into anyone who actually cared about the things. He himself preferred them well done. Had he fought them for so long that they almost started looking human to him? Or had he been thinking about everything else? Like how some of them might have once been human? Or how stupid people could be about the way they treated them? Kliff had seen Gears being executed before…and he had to admit that after having fought them to the death so many times something did turn his stomach to see the way some acted…

Yet with a grunt, he pushed this out of his head. Now was too late in life to get sentimental about the things. He had a mission ahead of him. A mission so big that it had drawn the infamous Sol Badguy out of the woodwork. One way or another, this was going to be one hell of a fight.

And he wasn't going to let himself be shown up by Ky, Sol, or anyone else.

* * *

_This might be a bad idea…but why not take a shot at it?_

Axl Low reclined a bit more in the boat, propping his head up behind him and watching as the water rushed by. He was completely unmindful of the drunken idiots around him, still drinking, yelling, and now bringing out some heavier stuff than liquor to party with, just as they were unaware of him. Some stupid martial arts group at a college getting drunk after a championship, and then some cocky fool bringing up the idea to try out for this tournament, and then, to top it all off, a rich wanker drunk enough to take his daddy's yacht out for a spin across the English Channel. It hadn't been hard for him to slip in with the rest of the hooligans who tailed after them. Thank God that those were still around after a hundred years. Now, all he had to do was hope that the partiers on board stayed drunk long enough to get him there.

Axl had only been in the future for a few days, but he had seen enough to realize that there were people with some pretty outrageous abilities in this day. Powers like his were far more the norm…or at least had gone from rare to uncommon. Apparently, there had been a big war involving them and those bio weapons from that one apocalyptic future he had visited. It seemed his worse fears were right. And after managing to catch that television broadcast, he followed up with a bit more research to find out what exactly was being talked about. Turns out it was involving some pretty serious stuff, and this guy had to be looking for really powerful types. These losers he was bumming a ride off of couldn't possibly fit the bill.

Then again, he wasn't really sure if he did either. He knew he had to be better than whatever the "class D" thing was supposed to be, but he wasn't sure how much better. There had to be at least three higher classes. He really was still very lost in this world, trying to figure out how the countries had been rearranged, how far technology had gone, and why some places looked nearly Renaissance if this was so far into the new advanced age. All he knew was that he had to find some way to possibly end his time-slipping events, and right now this looked like the only lead. He had no friends or acquaintances, and he had no connections to anyone who might know a thing about it. If this guy could really grant wishes, then maybe he could grant his…

It had taken all the money he had swiped off of the thugs, but he managed to barter passage from North America (he eventually found out he was somewhere in the former Midwest on arrival), and then got to Europe. He had no money to ride to former England even if there were any transports going there, but luckily there were people like this nice drunk rich snot to help out. Yet another way to get by without even trying that Axl had picked up.

Tuning out the carousing (which wasn't anything worse than a post-World Cup game in his own time at your local pub), Axl closed his eyes and came to a rest in the deck chair he had found. One way or another, he'd find out just how good he was compared to the others in this time soon. Until then, he had to rest up.

* * *

_I have you now._

Chipp passed off the white envelope to the unsavory looking Frenchman manning the small tugboat. He moved to take a step off of the dirty, secluded pier a moment later and step on board. However, the sailor stopped him. He took the envelope in a snatching manner, and opened it to begin counting. Chipp frowned a bit, but crossed his arms impatiently, minding his sword, and looked about again. This was one of the older piers in town. It was practically deserted; only being used by local fishermen. And it was night now, and the lights were broken. But still, he wanted to get out of here soon. He had finally found a real chance at a lead. He couldn't let the police stop him because of some ridiculous rule.

The Frenchman frowned a moment later, and then looked up to him and waved the envelope angrily. "This is only half."

"The other half when I return to the boat." Chipp flatly stated.

The grimy man scowled at this, looking rather upset. He held a moment, but then snorted and turned around. "I'll want a thousand extra to stick around…" He mumbled as he went to the engine.

Chipp didn't care. The fact was, he had already given the man every cent he had managed to gather from pawning. Though he hated the notion of being a thief, he figured that the dead assassins would have more money on them. It was blood money anyway, right? He could use it for something good, right?

The fact was, he'd swim back to shore if he had to. All that mattered was getting there. Zato-1, head of the Assassin Syndicate, was going to be there. He had to know something. And if not him, then the assassin Millia Rage might. She was who he was coming for, and so she had to be there too. He didn't care what kind of assassins they thought they were. Nothing compared to a ninja.

There would be vengeance for Tsuyoshi's blood at all costs.

* * *

One by one, each of the old, heavy metal locks were undone. The man inside flicked his eyes up and peered through the darkness to the source of the clicking. He heard each one disengage, but didn't react any more to that. He just gazed out through his coke-bottle lenses and watched to see what was about to happen. 

Moments later, and the metal door suddenly swung open. Light bathed the inside of the cell for the first time in months. However, although the light hurt his eyes and made his pupils contract, the tall, spidery man sitting inside the cell did not shift. His legs and arms remained bent around him like he was a dead insect, and he showed no signs of life as he kept his head to the ground. Only his eyes, as still and unblinking as a cat's, showed any recognition of what had happened. He didn't even wince in the light.

Outside, he saw some thirty guards, each one armored with special shielded gear, and holding heavy, electrically-charged nightsticks. Each one was staring at him and tightened up, ready to move if he made the slightest motion against him. Even if that failed, there were devices in the ceiling aimed at him. Some would shoot gas. Others would shoot bullets. They stood there like some sort of entourage, flanking the hall not moving.

Then, at long last, one of them slowly stepped forward, like a man sneaking up on a sleeping tiger. He slowly crossed in front of the opening into the cell. Dr. Baldhead watched as he came, not moving anything else, but saw him come to a halt right in the doorway. He looked to his arms next…and realized that they were holding a rather long case.

A few latches clicked, and the case opened. A long blade gleamed inside…one that Dr. Baldhead remembered more than anything.

"The PWAB has some patients for you to operate on."

* * *

Ky's burning blue eyes stayed focused on his goal. Despite how dark it was tonight, he focused like a man who could already see his target as he raced across the English Channel on an IPF Coastal Jet Ski. Approaching by sea was considered the best bet. It was easier to see something coming through the sky, and he could blend in with the civilians. Any civilians that Ky encountered would promptly be dispatched, incapacitated, and collected for shipping back to the mainland. That wasn't an order, but that was what he told himself to do. This was no place for thrill seekers. 

Ky thought only of his duty. He thought of the man he had seen on the news. He had said many things…excited many possibilities. Yet what was concrete and definite was the fact that he was able to cause destruction on a wide scale. He had set dangerous men free to resume their murderous careers. He could kill hundreds. That made him Ky's enemy. Regardless of what power or knowledge he possessed, the man would strike him down without pity if he didn't come quietly once ordered. His talk about a new Sacred Order, while nostalgic, was merely something to interest him. He had no intention of joining any organization hosted by a man who was a criminal. He was just another mission to him.

And yet…the young man, in all of his steely, unshakable resolve…was unable to shake a feeling that had been excited within him when he first watched the program…a feeling which brought out the memory of Justice in all his infernal glory…

* * *

"Ulp… Why did you do that!" 

April blanched a little bit at the controls. She turned her head around as the ocean spray began to kick up and hit both of them. She said something back to May, but of course the girl couldn't hear her. The engines and the ocean were far too loud. It was lost.

There wasn't much room for more than two people on the Johnny Prop. It was a mini-plane in every sense of the word. It was only ten feet from head to tail. It was only because it could go faster than Mach 1 that it generated enough speed to keep itself airborne. Of course, that didn't mean it wasn't still sickening to move around at such high speeds…or that it had any way of blocking the effects of nausea when April decided to take the prop for an abrupt nosedive before leveling out before splatting against the ocean. May had nearly lost her massive anchor, which barely fit on board with her holding onto it, as well as her lunch.

"What was that?" May yelled back.

"I said I'm dropping us below radar!" April screamed back, closing her eyes to yell at the top of her lungs.

That only made May blanch, because she was still looking forward. Former England was looming close now, but that also meant that rocks were starting to jut up from shore. One of them was right in front of them and closing fast.

"APRIL!" May screamed as she pointed forward.

April twisted back around, and sweat again as she turned pale. "ACK!"

* * *

Millia inhaled and exhaled as she saw the shore nearly in range of her and her small motorboat. She had more than enough spare cash in her Swiss Account to afford one. She definitely wasn't getting a ride with anyone else to England. Doing so would only give more leads for Zato-1 to follow. She had already risked a lot by putting her head out on the chopping block, so to speak, so as to go to him first. Last time she tried this had only been a half-success. 

This tournament was a good cover-up. She didn't need to be on any wanted lists for murder. Hopefully, if she could keep low enough, some of the other fighters could wear him down. She doubted it, however. More likely, the other fighters would be slaughtered like cattle. Whoever was the host might have a bit more strength…but she seriously could see nothing prevailing against Eddie. She was the only one who had a true chance. She had to match her forbidden art against his.

Millia sighed again as she closed her eyes.

* * *

Potemkin landed with a sickening thud against the ground. His huge feet sank into the soil of the beach, immediately sinking in two feet. He was actually forced to drop into a crouch, putting out one massive hand to push the ground in an additional six inches in a giant hand shape. However, after pausing in this position a moment, he gave a big grunt, and then straightened himself up again. He hesitated, for, at this moment, he was free for a few seconds. He always stopped to enjoy that part. It made him dream of the day when it would be forever. 

The hulk looked to the sky, and saw how pretty it looked. Even if it was black and only had a crescent moon, that was more than Potemkin usually saw on the smog-covered Zepp. And he had enough light to see the drop plane spin around and head back for Zepp at full speed. That was another good benefit. He was testing himself more and more to see how high of a drop he could survive. That time, he had told them to drop him at two thousand feet. And here he was. His legs felt a slight tingle, but other than that he had landed perfectly without a parachute. It was a long was from ten-thousand…but over a high mountain chain might be sufficient…

He had to keep thinking of plans. One would come into his head sooner or later. As a slave, he had to find time to think even when in the midst of jobs. It was the only time he had. And so, as he turned and began to walk to the forests that had regrown on England, he began to try and think anew of a way to save his wife and child if this fell through…

* * *

Zato-1 turned his liquor around a bit more, and then downed another swallow. Shortly after doing that, he willed Eddie's head to form and come out over his shoulder. He motioned the beer over to him. The thing grinned, and in response to its own swig. 

"That's my boy." He answered with a snicker.

Transports being shut down meant nothing to Zato-1. The Syndicate had a private yacht for higher-ups. He was riding on it currently, enjoying a few drinks and a nice steak before it was show time. He only hoped that the captain would take his time a bit more. He was currently enjoying a lovely evening sitting on the viewing deck in a cushioned chair, leaning back and feeling the nice ocean breeze. One of his favorite concertos was playing, and he had only half-finished his rare meat so far. It was exceptional, and he wanted to savor the blood.

It was like heading to an amusement park. Lots of real challenges for him to kill…revenge on Millia…and a nice little bonus for winning the tournament for his host. He was going to have quite a time over the next few days. And to think…he thought that there were no entertaining vacation spots left on Earth. Could life get any better?

* * *

On the roof of the ruin that had once been Buckingham Palace over a century earlier…a red eye narrowed as a white fist flexed.

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: Opening Salvo...

I'm sure you've noticed that this "introductory" chapter isn't like the others in that the story is never from Sol's perspective. Those more familiar with the series can probably guess why...


	11. Opening Salvo

**"Opening Salvo"**

* * *

"Thanks a lot for the ride!" 

_Wimps._

Axl kept that thought private as he waved at the escaping yacht. Apparently, it had been a drunk and/or high concept to actually land on the island for these guys. After they had finally managed to get their ship to shore, most of them had forgotten about the tournament all together and instead retreated inside for other vices…or had simply passed out. Axl himself had nodded off during that time, and unfortunately for him was still sound asleep when the sun rose the next day.

Later, as the team came to and the hangovers came on, they seemed to realize their position. Looking out and seeing the island quite uninhabited and mostly overgrown, what resolve that being intoxicated had given them began to erode. The rich perps started to realize that this might not be such a good idea, and were starting to regret even being there. At least, that's what Axl reasoned. He further reasoned that they must have started to go through the boat and see who exactly was all there. No doubt, they ran into a lot of strangers and hooligans. However, they had to have come on him at some point. He wasn't a friend of a friend or even a martial arts fan. He did have a rather long weapon with him in his hands, however, and a pair of blades that he had sharpened since initially obtaining them.

He was asleep at the time, so he wasn't sure if they thought he was a serious fighter who had bummed a ride off of them…or if he was some mass murderer that planned to slice them all up now that they were miles from anyone who could help them. The latter was more likely, seeing as Axl did suddenly have a dream about a few moments of free-falling…before he felt icy water slam into his face and jar him awake. Seconds later, he was soaked in it, but his feet also touched down on solid ground. He snapped to in a few moments, and began to realize where he was. After that, his rattled brain quickly got its bearings. He nearly thought he had taken another bad trip, only he found he was still wearing his clothes. Luckily, his hands had been grasping his kusarigama. Losing that would have been bad.

Now he had dragged himself onto the beach, risen to full height, turned, and waved at those who he had hitchhiked with. Most of them seemed to ignore him. He thought he caught a glimpse of one or two of them flipping him off. At any rate, it didn't matter. They were forgotten. They had gotten him here, and that was all that mattered. With that in mind, he turned and looked to see exactly where he was.

He whistled a little at the sight. If he hadn't know where they were headed, he might not have recognized the place. Most of where he was had long since overgrown. He was on a beach right now, but at one time this had been a built-up ocean-side road. It had washed out since then, leaving a rather spacious beach for him to walk on. He could still see cracked, upheaved pieces of roadwork, crumbling and ancient, piled up in a vague curve shape that had once been the road. Bushes, grass, and roots had grown up since then through much of it. Ahead of him, beyond the road, was the ruins of a town. It hadn't fully regrown yet, but there were numerous trees, some of them pretty old, rising out from the ground and filling the sky. However, this part also had some space on it in which the sky was visible. Everything was so deteriorated or blasted from war that Axl couldn't hope to recognize it. He wasn't even sure if he had ever been to this part of England. If he had hoped for any "terrain advantage", then that would be lost.

Inhaling deeply, he cracked his neck.

"Well…here we go."

With that, the man began to walk up off of the beach to the road.

* * *

Three hours later, and Axl had relaxed somewhat. Some of it was due to simply being tired after having walked for so long. Another part of it was due to being rather bummed out. During the first hour, he had kept a careful watch on his surroundings. Due to the ruins and the forests, there were lots of places for an ambush to be concealed. At any time, he expected someone to jump out and attack him. After all, there was no telling now many thugs and fighters were running around on this continent. There were only four days left, after all. Yet despite all of his traveling, he hadn't found any sign of anyone. 

Axl had passed through the first town and into a grassland that had once been part of the English countryside. It was sort of nice…except for the fact that the insects still ruled much of this nation. He had been bitten several times on the face. Damn buggers must have not gotten fresh blood in a long time, and they were desperate for a taste. After slapping himself so much that he might as well have been one of the Three Stooges, he came to a larger town. At least, he kind of wandered into one. He wasn't exactly sure. The ruins just seemed to materialize underneath grass and brush around him.

This one was bigger. He had been walking through it for some time, but still hadn't reached the end of it. It wasn't as overgrown with trees as the first place he had been, although it was still rather broken down and vegetated. Axl saw a few half-melted cars that since had flowers growing out of them. Even one of the old double-stacked busses was there. There wasn't anything else of value. Most of the buildings were gutted by fire if they were still standing. Anything that had been expensive or edible or even useful had long since deteriorated.

Axl wasn't even looking around for anyone by the time he started coming to the city square. He was rather thirsty by now, but, just his luck, the fountain in the square was cracked and had long since gone dry. He began to think he should have planned a bit more extensively for this trip. Bringing food and water was something he definitely should have thought of. A GPS might not have been such a bad idea either. Right now, he was essentially wandering aimlessly inland. He should have had a plan to actually find this guy. Instead, he had focused so much on fighting that he hadn't considered anything else. And now that he was here, surrounded by the country that time forgot, without any other human for miles…he began to realize just how ill prepared he had been.

It wasn't just that, though. This was _his_ country. And this was all that was left of it. As he emerged into the square, he once again saw nothing but ruins and rubble all around him. It was still littering the streets, exactly where it had been for a hundred years with no one to pick it up. Five streets all led here to a circle drive, and all of them were warped and broken. A large part of one road had actually been severed, as erosion had cut a deep ravine into it over time. Or perhaps that was some fracture that had grown worse from a Gear attack.

English people were still around. Axl knew. Most of them had moved to their other territories and commonwealths. Why hadn't they ever come back? Why hadn't they ever tried to rebuild this place? Why did they just leave it here to rot like this? He didn't know. All he knew was that this was all that had been left of what he remembered and had been a part of him, and now he knew that in a hundred years, even if he got back to his own time, it was going to be this. All that he had known and trusted would one day be rotting and collecting dust. And it would be in such a short period of time too. This wasn't untold millennia in the future. This was a hundred and fifty years after his first jump. That was how long it took for the world to lose anything that had meant anything to Axl Low.

The thought was rather depressing as Axl passed over the ring of roads and into the main part of the square. He looked again at the broken fountain, and he thought of how thirsty he was. He thought of looking for some old valve he might turn…but he quickly banished the idea. Even if he could get one of those old, rusted pipes to budge, and any water came out, would he really want to drink from stuff that had been sitting in these pipe for a century? His real best bet was to find some clear-looking water in some natural stream and to sterilize it using his own ability…

As Axl stepped forward, something suddenly caught his ear. If it had been anywhere else or any other time, he might not have heard it. But his ears had time to adjust to the sound of silence around him, and anything that broke it set him off. Some stone shifted a couple dozen yards away from him. And based on the sound, it wasn't by accident.

Immediately, Axl snapped around to the source, and held up either end of his kusarigama in a gesture ready to fight.

Standing at a distance from him, about fifty feet, the first sign of life he had seen in hours, was a woman. And on seeing her, Axl felt himself caught a bit off guard. It was a rather lovely woman at that. Smooth, perfect complexion, large blue eyes, and, most of all, the fullest, most gorgeous head of blond hair he had ever seen. He didn't think it was possible for any conditioner to do that. Most of her upper body was concealed under white and blue clothing that seemed as good in warm weather as cold, but her flawless legs were exposed over her large boots.

Yet despite how good she looked, the woman had snapped to him just as he had to her. And, frankly, this woman was so cold-looking that it managed to ease Axl's thirst a bit. Her posture was firm, her hips loose for her to swing out into a blow quickly, and her eyes pierced Axl's body like she was a raptor waiting to pounce on a rabbit. There was one weird thing, however. She seemed to dangle the long, blond ponytail behind her head in front of her, waving it at him. What was she going to do? Smack him with it? It seemed stupid to hold it right in front of your vision…

A moment passed as the two faced off. However, the woman looked him over once, and seemed to conclude something. Axl stood his ground warily, not knowing if he was going to be attacked. Yet in the end, the woman merely let out a snort and stood straight and tall. As if she was bored with him, she murmured something in a thick, foreign language that Axl couldn't understand, and then turned as if he wasn't worth her notice and began to walk again.

Axl raised an eyebrow to this, but straightened and loosened up as well. "You know, I hate it when people talk behind my back in some language I can't understand." He called out to her. For all he knew, she hadn't the foggiest idea what he had said. Yet he didn't want to run into a person on this island without saying so much as a word.

Therefore, he was a bit surprised when the woman turned her head coldly back to him and answered in a full-bodied Russian accent.

"I said, 'Hmm… Just some idiot.'"

Axl frowned a bit and shrugged. "I had to ask."

"If you know what's good for you…" The woman continued. "You'll get off this island now. The one I hunt wouldn't have hesitated to kill you on sight. Whoever you are, you're far out of your league."

Axl simply shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't do that. I've got a lot riding on this tournament."

The woman merely sneered, sighed, and then shook her head as she turned away and began to walk around the city block she was at for the next street. "I won't argue with a fool. I have no time. I only hope your bumbling hasn't alerted Zato-1 to my location." She seemed like she forgot completely about Axl, and began to move along.

"Hey! Wait a second!" He called back, taking a few steps toward her.

The woman froze and turned back to him. _Damn…_ Axl thought as her eyes met his again. _That look of her's could stop global warming… Maybe what I'm about to say next isn't such a good idea…_ Yet despite his misgivings, he gave something of a shrug while still holding his sickles in either hand.

"Y'know…this _is_ a tournament. Guy said we only win if we beat all the other fighters. So…shouldn't we mix it up a bit?" He gyrated his arms a bit to accent this notion.

The woman instantly snorted. "Please…" She groused, before turning to leave again. "I wouldn't waste my time humoring you with a _defeat_…" She began to walk away again, almost to the corner where she could turn and make her way down the road.

She only got a few more feet before the wall in front of her suddenly erupted in a burst of stone and cement. The woman was so shocked at the event that she actually peeled back a bit, gaping at the sight. She held for a moment as the dust in front of her cleared. However, once it did, she immediately saw what had caused it. A sickle was now embedded in the wall, with a long chain hanging from the end of it. She looked at the chain, and trailed it back to where it had come from. Her eyes soon traced all the way back to Axl, seeing him holding his weapon's chain in the same position he had last been in when he threw it at her. His face looked innocent enough with a smile as she looked to him, but his voice wasn't.

"I didn't give you a choice, babe."

If the woman's eyes could have grown any colder, they did when she heard the word, "babe". As her body slowly turned around to face him, her muscle tone seemed to increase as her body went rigid. Her jaw tightened a bit when she fully focused on Axl, and it was all he could do to keep from swallowing.

"Babe?" She asked in the tone of a thousand deadly vipers. Her knuckles cracked once, and then she began to put them in front of herself again. "Alright, little boy…" She answered back. "I'll spare you ten seconds to give you a quick spanking." Her body arched forward, and once more her ponytail was flicked in front of her face.

Axl's grin was plastered on his own mug as he disengaged his chain, yanked it back to himself, and tried to look as cocky as possible. The truth of the matter was he had never seen a woman who looked more capable of ripping out his throat and flossing her teeth with it. He began to think he had made a serious mistake picking a fight with the ice queen. Yet he knew if he showed that now he'd most certainly be dead. So, instead, he pulled his sickle back, and then began to swing it around in circles. Soon, the two were facing off against one another. Tension in the air began to mount as it became clear a fight was imminent.

"I'm not going to kill you, in case you're wondering." Axl said with as much confidence as he could muster. "I never have. I hate the thought."

"I don't know if the name 'Millia Rage' means anything to you, but I've lost count of how many overzealous men I've slaughtered." The woman coldly answered back. "So maybe if you start crying like a little boy, I'll let you run home to your mother."

_I'm in deep sh't._ Axl thought beneath his mask of confidence…and then made the first blow.

The truth was, he wasn't sure how easy he could afford to go on this woman, and he wouldn't unless he gave her a real test. This next sickle that he flung at her had the broad side out, but it was still going to make for a painful blow if it hit her head, which was exactly where he aimed for. Yet as it sailed toward her, she simply flicked her head to one side, letting the chain sail harmlessly past. At that point, Axl knew he could have tugged it back and embedded the sickle in the back of her head…but he was hesitant. He hadn't ever killed anyone before. He didn't want to start today, even against this 'Millia Rage', or whoever she was. But she was fast, and maybe…

Axl didn't have time to finish that thought. Something freaky happened that caught him completely off guard. To his shock…Millia's hair suddenly _lengthened._ It wasn't just that, but the rope that had been her ponytail suddenly shot for him as it stretched out, like some sort of whip or snake. Before he could react, the hair lashed around his leg, and then gave a yank. He was too off guard to notice anything else or to brace himself. Before he knew it, his feet were dragged out from under him. Giving a yelp, he fell backward, sprawled out, and collapsed to the ground. His long end of the chain dropped uselessly to the ground as he sprawled out on his back.

Axl closed his eyes for a fraction of a second before opening them again. When he did, he struggled not to gasp. Millia was already on him…and her hair had shortened and solidified, becoming a spike. Now, it was pointed down and right at his throat. She stood over him in what had to be a posture of victory. It had only taken a few seconds, but he was already down.

"Finished already?" She coldly asked him.

Yet in answer, Axl merely flicked one of his wrists. In response, his loose sickle came sailing back and into his grip. He flashed a grin as he quickly slammed both up and in between him and the spike of hair.

"Just firing up."

The moment he said 'firing', the ends of his sickles erupted into balls of flame. The fire immediately lashed out and set on Millia's spike of hair. Although it wasn't the most pleasant smell in the world, her prehensile mane seemed to catch fire easily enough. Her eyes widened at the sight, for it was clear she wasn't expecting him to use fire against her like this, and she drew her hair back. A second later, and part of her hair was breaking itself and shedding before the flames could travel to her scalp.

But that was all he needed. While Millia was still struggling, both of Axl's feet suddenly shot up into the air and caught the woman underneath her chin. His surge of power and speed was surprising. He had a tendency to do that…to fake at a lower level long enough to catch his opponent off guard. Normally, this would have sent a bigger guy down for the count. Millia, however, merely let out the slightest of noises and stepped back a bit. Luckily, Axl was going to follow up. While still on the ground with his feet out, he tucked them in front of himself and made a somersault roll toward the woman. While she was still recovering, he came out of the roll, extended his feet again, and with a little extra "oomph" kicked her with both feet in the chest. Her body was thrown back by the surprising force and knocked into a wall of a ruin. She snapped back off of it and hunched slightly for a moment.

Axl quickly rolled himself the rest of the way forward and snapped back to his feet, both of his blades in his hands and ready for action. Millia was stunned for the briefest moment before looking up to him, icy daggers all the way.

"I think the ten seconds are about up." Axl joked.

_Why the hell did I just say that?_ He told himself a moment later.

It was a good question, for Millia seemed to be really enraged now. Enraged enough to thicken her hair into a club shape and lash it out forward, smacking Axl backward with a blow that felt like granite thrown at the side of his head. He actually felt a bit of blood trickle out of his nose as he sailed back and went to the ground again. Yet now, he didn't act like a limp fish. As soon as he touched down, he sprung up, rolled back, and was on his feet again.

This was good, because Millia was on him again. Now, she was going in for what had to be death. Her ponytail had lengthened and flattened into a blade, and she was stabbing at him with it. Quickly, he brought up his sickles, and deflected the blows as they came in. But they were fast, and he quickly had to run back to avoid them. Even so, he noticed that her hair's "steel" was superior to his. The sickles were getting scratched and dented from fending it off. Not only that, but the ground was littered with rubble. He couldn't afford to back up on it for long before he inevitably tripped. He had to do something…

As Millia shot out her hair for him again, he dodged once more…but this time he reacted too. His arm lashed out with a sickle, and quickly wrapped a length of chain around her hair. Though it could shed itself at will, for the moment he yanked on it longer than Millia wanted. As a result, she let out a small yelp…the result of anyone pulling your hair. He quickly laced his free hand around another length of chain to improve his fist. He still didn't want to kill this woman…but she was too deadly to let run around much longer. He had never fought anyone who used their _hair_ as a weapon…

But before he could drive it forward, Millia surprised him. Her hair didn't shed but lengthened, and she abruptly swung both of her legs upward, one after the other, in a flip kick. Both blows caught…one under the chin and one under the nose. The effect was dazzling. Axl's senses were thrown for a loop, and he began to stagger away as he lost his grip again. The chain stayed around one of his fists, but the other lost her hair.

As soon as he was away, Millia glared at him again. This time, she turned her hair into something new. It suddenly flashed around her and lengthened dramatically, becoming some sort of hair spiral or tornado. It thrashed and spun around her, seeming to form some shield or full-body weapon, and she began to walk forward toward Axl as he continued to stagger and grab his face.

Axl's nose was bleeding for certain now…but he couldn't stop. As Millia approached, he once again threw out a sickle at her. The woman almost smiled as she saw this. When it neared her hair tornado, it simply dinged off of it as if he had thrown it at a cement wall. Once it went to the side, however, she reached out, seeming to move her arm perfectly around through her tornado of hair, seized the end of it, and gripped hard. She yanked back, and soon she had it taut. She obviously planned to reel him in.

However, the Brit had been expecting this. As soon as her hand was on it, he sent another wave of heat through his sickle. Moments later, and Millia's cold gaze was shattered with shock as burning pain went through her hand. Not only that, but she forgot to maintain her hair tornado, and it immediately reverted back into being a single ponytail. This offered a ray of hope. So long as she was off guard…she couldn't use it. She needed time to think.

With that in mind, Axl ran forward, his fist still having the chain wrapped around it, and smashed into Millia's face. He couldn't punch that well with only one hand, but his first blow sent her staggering back. To his surprise, however, although he drew blood as well…she was still standing. He quickly followed up with two more hits, and both sent the woman sprawling back. But she stayed on her feet, and she didn't seem anywhere close to unconscious. If anything…she seemed to be growing angrier between each fist.

When Axl began to see Millia's hair moving on its own again, he realized he had to do something new. It took him a moment, but then he decided on a plan. Abruptly, he jumped back and parted a distance from the dazzled woman. It seemed to work. Her hair temporarily relaxed as she, dazzled and still sore, tried to get her bearings from the attack she had just weathered. However, he had only been getting a bit more room between the two of them. He tossed out the chain on his kusarigama again, and this time lashed it around her legs instead. He yanked back sharply, and the woman gave an exhale of air as her feet were yanked out from under her, sending her falling to the ground. Quickly, he loosened his chain and drew it back to himself, and then wrapped it around his fist again. He shot forward and leapt onto her fallen body, clearly meaning to punch her as he had before.

As Axl drove his fist forward again…he found himself halted. Millia's hair suddenly lashed out and wrapped around his wrist. His arm was immediately stopped, despite the power he had put into the blow. He reacted to this in surprise, but then quickly brought up his other arm. He soon learned something else. Her hair could split in two directions at once, because another strand lashed out and wrapped around his other arm. Now, although he still had his weapon, he couldn't react. Millia pulled her head back up from the ground, glared at him furiously, and then abruptly ripped him off of his feet. Still holding onto him, she raised him into the air, swung him over her own head, and smashed him into the ground behind him, making sure to do so on rocks and debris. Axl soon felt agony throughout his body as he crumpled around it.

No sooner had she finished that, then she gave another yell and yanked him back off of the ground. Now, with all the force she could muster, she flipped him back into the air and over her head, throwing him across the square and right into the ruin wall across from her. Limp, dazzled, and now bleeding quite a bit from his head and lip, Axl didn't react much as his body was flung like a stone in a sling. Even when he saw the other wall coming, he barely managed to yank his arms up to defend himself before he smashed into it. The impact was so strong that his body cracked a bit of the ancient stone before he fell off and to the ground again. He landed with a sickening thud as he let out a large moan.

For a moment, Axl groaned and writhed on the ground. That had to be one of the worst beatings he had ever sustained. Most of his fight was quickly being kicked out of him. This woman was lethal. He couldn't afford to rest for a moment. Though he felt agony through most of his body, and thought some things were split or broken, he forced himself to roll his body up into a squat. The result left him dizzy, and after the punishment he took made him want to throw up. But he managed to look over again to the side.

He realized he had hit one too many nerves, because she wasn't leaving him be. She was standing again and now she was coming for him. He began to wish he had never opened his fat mouth. Already she was crossing half of the square and next to the fountain. Soon she'd be upon him.

Axl tried to think through his mashed senses. What now? Throwing the weapon at her again wouldn't work. She'd be expecting that. Attacking her head on was a sure way to get torn up by that hair. She was probably expecting him to try and trip her at this point too… He could try setting her on fire, but if he did that the hair would just regrow.

_Come on…think…_

Millia was nearly on him now. She was closing into weapon's range. He looked up to her with a panicked expression, and finally made a move. He yanked one end of his kusarigama back, and then flung it out. It went completely wide, however. Millia looked to it, but the weapon sailed harmlessly past her head by a clean foot and a half. She didn't even have to bother dodging. She turned back to the man a moment later. She didn't smile, but she did throw out a comment.

"Your aim is getting pretty off."

Axl didn't answer. However, unlike Millia…he couldn't help but smile a bit. Only now did the woman seem to realize that his chain may have "missed"…but it was still rigid. In response, her eyes widened as she realized the mistake. Yet it was too late by that point. Axl snapped back on his chain, and a large section of debris was ripped into the air, yanked back, and slammed into the back of Millia's head.

The piece of stone shattered on impact, and the woman finally gave a real cry as she staggered forward. Her hair went limp. However, she was still standing. Axl thought this next move could seriously hurt her, but right now he didn't have a whole lot of room to spare mercy. Quickly, he yanked his sickle back, spun around, and lashed it out to grab an even larger chunk that had fallen off of a ruin wall. Once he had it, he grit his teeth, pulled his muscles taught, and yanked if off of the ground. Like an Olympian doing the hammer throw, he yanked the huge piece of debris around as hard as he could, swung it in a massive arc, and brought it in contact with Millia's face just as her hair began to lift again.

Another painful sounding fracture resulted, splitting the huge rock in two. As for Millia, now it was her turn to be ripped off of her feet and cast backward through the air like so much chaff. She went limp on impact, and continued to be so as she soared over the square a short distance before landing about as roughly as Axl had a moment ago. She went still the second she landed.

Axl hesitated a moment, half expecting her to get up and be angrier than ever. However, she stayed still. He used the moment to get back to his feet and prepare for more action. He dragged the loose chain back into his hands and readied himself. But nothing happened. Millia stayed sprawled out on the ground. He couldn't see her full body due to debris littering the ground, but he could see enough of it to see she wasn't moving at all.

A second later, and Axl went from fearful for his life to nervous about what he had done.

_Oh no… Did I just kill the bitch?_

Axl hesitated a bit longer, but then began to step his way forward through the rubble. As he slowly approached, he looked down and saw the broken pieces of stone that he had smashed against Millia's head. He didn't know what kept that crazy woman going…but he knew that if he had been smacked upside the head by one of those pieces he'd probably be eating out of a straw for the rest of his life. Well…he had panicked. It wasn't every day that a woman slapped you with her own hair. That was understandable. But still…he hoped he hadn't. Yet if she wasn't dead yet seriously hurt, then what would he do? Aside from knowing nothing of what to do if someone sustained major head trauma, he wasn't sure he wanted to help this woman recover so she could start beating him up again.

As Axl approached, he began to see a bit more around the rubble. He saw a bit more of her legs…some of her white clothing, now dirty from the fight…a bit more of her limbs… He hesitated here a bit longer, but then inched a bit more forward.

Now he could see her face. It was still and blank. Her eyes were closed, and she showed no emotion. He crept forward just a little more, and began to look for her hair. As far as he could tell, it was just as it had been a few seconds ago. It only had the one ponytail, and it was hanging down behind her to the ground. He couldn't see anything more than that, because she was hung partially over some debris…

Yet as he stared on…he became conscious of hearing a sound. It was very faint. At first, he thought it was coming from Millia. But he couldn't hear it coming in that direction. It was getting closer…and louder. It sounded almost like…digging. As he paused again, and tried to listen more closely to this noise to figure out where it was coming from…it suddenly hit him.

_Damn…do I feel like a jackass…_

That was all Axl was able to think before the pavement and rubble directly underneath him exploded, and a long, thick lock of Millia's hair shot straight up and smashed him under the chin. His face was jerked up painfully as he felt his teeth loosen. It felt like a brick had been thrown at his head. His vision went starry as he reeled back, flailing out loosely and completely dazzled.

The hair itself quickly retracted, as Millia's eyes opened. Her face immediately tightened into a cold, angry expression again, as her hair sprung out of the ground, where it had been tunneling its way under, and splayed itself out behind her head. Like a fifth arm, it pushed her up and set her back on her feet. The moment she was there, she began to walk toward the stunned Axl once again. Her face had not lost any of its deadly edge.

Again, her hair flicked out. Within the span of one second, it had hit Axl four times. Two blows were given to the body, hard and punishing, and causing him to hunch over and gasp. Two more went to the head afterward, each one smacking his head violently to either side. Each hit forced Axl to stagger back, and he offered little to no resistance. He was too dazzled. Blood was now freely flowing from his nose and mouth. He couldn't even get enough of his bearings to raise his weapon again.

After this, however, Millia had enough. She paused in her walking forward, and drew her hair back for the briefest instant. After gazing at her bloody opponent for a moment, she grit her teeth and let out a small yell as she swung her head around. When she did, her hair lengthened to seven feet, condensed to the density of a steel mace, and then smashed into Axl's body with all her might.

The man was ripped off of his feet and flung backward. Yet Axl could barely sense this. The world around him immediately went from stars to black…

* * *

Millia watched as the stranger slumped over and let his arms and legs flail behind him as he was carried through the air. Somehow, likely by instinct, he was holding onto his weapon…but the chain fluttered out behind him like some tail of a strange kite. His body had gone as still and lifeless as she had pretended to be a moment ago. Moments later, and his body began to descend again…straight toward the monstrous ravine. An instant more, and his body was vanishing over the edge and on its way to falling toward certain oblivion. 

Only when he vanished and the square became still and quiet did Millia begin to pant. One of her gloves wiped the blood away from her nose, and she winced from the large bruise forming on her forehead. Now that she was relaxed, she began to grow a little dizzy as well. If she had been any other regular woman, she'd probably be unconscious. If she was sensible, she'd probably try to get back to her boat and get to a hospital. She had barely managed to stiffen her hair into a helmet in time, and she might still have a concussion. Unfortunately for her, she wasn't any other woman or sensible. She was an assassin…and you had to live through these things.

And as an assassin…you had to make sure your target was dead.

With that in mind, Millia waited only until she managed to gain her bearings before she started to walk over to the ravine herself. She kept her ponytail in front of her, but her senses were still dazzled. She had taken a much worse beating than she wanted. It was her own fault, she knew. She thought she'd hold back at first to teach the fool a lesson. It didn't occur to her that he'd be rather deadly himself. _Trying to spare my life, my ass…_ She thought as she remembered being punched in the jaw by his chain-covered fist. She could have just snapped his neck and called it a day. But instead she wanted to fight…and she had paid a price for it. That settled it for her. She'd avoid as many fighters as she could in the future. She didn't need to get beaten to a pulp before she even met Zato-1…

The woman reached the edge of the ravine. Once there, she hesitated a moment. He could have played possum as well, and been hiding just over the edge, ready to set her on fire again. It wouldn't be the first time this had happened. She took a moment to steady herself first and think of a counter move. Then, after taking in a deep breath, she turned her upper body over the edge and looked down. Her hair splayed around her and immediately formed four dozen spikes, turning her into a humanoid porcupine.

Yet there was nothing to defend against. Only silence and a bit of a cool breeze from the underground darkness greeted her. He wasn't immediately within striking range if he was still alive. However, she couldn't see him or his body either. She had been fighting in daylight too much, and her eyes weren't adjusted to darkness. All she could see was a black oblivion. This ravine was no joke, though. It had to be at least a hundred feet deep. If he had fallen to the bottom, he had to be seriously hurt or dead… But if she didn't see him, then it proved nothing…

In the end, she sighed and forgot about it. Her hair retracted and became a ponytail again. She hadn't the time for this. She needed to get on the move again. She knew full well that Zato-1 had to be hunting her just as she was hunting him. She couldn't let him get the advantage. Her face was sore and swelling, and she was still dizzy. She needed to get away from here, find a place to rest, and take it easy for a few hours. After that, she could resume the true game on this island.

_If you're still alive down there…_ Millia thought aloud as she turned and began to walk away, as if some psychic link enabled her to talk to him even when he wasn't there.

* * *

Axl made a noise about twenty minutes later that could have been a groan, but sounded more like just his vocal cords struggling to make any noise whatsoever. It was only at that point that he thought of doing anything other than trying to let his body heal up from the severe beating he had just gotten. 

Axl had indeed been lifeless and senseless when he went over the side of the ravine. But one of the little tricks he had taught himself over the years was how to keep his hand locked around an object even when he went out cold. He supposed that's what some dead people learned, what when they died and were found still clutching onto something hard. At any rate, such was the case with his kusarigama. After that, he had to owe it all to his luck. Somehow after he had toppled over the side, his arm had gone out with the scythe and dug itself into the wall, stopping his descent. After that he came too, but for a long time was only able to sense himself dangling, and told his hand to keep holding on no matter what.

Now that he blinked and began to open his eyes, he saw little. He could barely see his own body in the darkness he was now shrouded in. However, he could sense his position. He was frozen in his last movement. He was still dangling by one arm and a scythe. He looked around a bit more, and felt a feeling of closeness and dampness. He could hear dripping. He reached out with his other hand and felt slime-covered rock. He frowned a bit at this, and looked around a bit further. In the end, he looked overhead.

There was light up there. It was a bit pale from some clouds that had rolled in over the area, but there was still light. It formed a very long crack, like some cosmic rip in space exposing atmosphere. After a moment longer, he realized what had happened. That Millia woman had knocked him into the ravine. Considering how high up the light was, he realized he must have fallen quite a ways before he stopped himself. It looked easily over two hundred feet above him. A bit puzzled, he reached up with his other hand again, and tried to feel out to his opposite side. After dangling a bit, he touched another slimy rock wall. The fissure was growing smaller this far down…but he still had no idea how deep it had to go. He could be a foot from the bottom or five hundred feet above oblivion.

_Well…_ He thought to himself as he hung in his situation. _My arm's getting tired. I better start heading up while I still can…_

Much as he hated the feel, and especially hated how it was wet down here, Axl reached out and began to feel over the wall for a handhold. He let his feet come forward and start scraping along the wall for one as well. Luckily for him, this area was by no means sheer, but was rather rocky. It was a miracle he hadn't been torn up on the way down. Soon he found areas for him to hook his other sickle and his feet. It was slick, but luckily his scythes could act as anchors. They'd need a severe resharpening after this…but oh well.

Very slowly, Axl began to climb his way up. Only a few minutes into it, he realized this was going to be an ordeal. It was a very long way to go, and though the surface wasn't sheer it was rather vertical. It was going to be hours. And frankly he was already tired from having no food and having his ass gift wrapped and handed back to him. There was a distinct possibility he could lose his strength before hitting the top and still die. However, Axl Low, above all things, was a survivor. He hadn't braved one era after another to let some damn slimy rock stop him. And so, he continued to move.

Axl was about halfway up when he began to notice that the wall was getting drier. He must have been getting into the regions that actually saw sunlight part of the day. Once he was here, he felt around for a moment to try and see if there was a dry ledge he could perch on. Luckily, he found one without too much trouble. He lessened some of the weight off of his sickles and let his body rest partially on it. He had to test it for weight first, but on finding it held he relaxed. The man let out a sigh.

The Brit cracked his neck once or twice, because it was getting rather stiff in the shaft, but then he looked up and overhead. He wanted to take a look at the sky and see how far he had to go yet.

On looking up, however…he paused.

Someone was looking back down at him.

Axl supposed later that his first instinct should have been to call up to the man and yell for help. After all, lowering any piece of rope or cable would make his journey a lot easier, especially if another person's weight and strength was helping to lift him.

Axl stayed silent, however. Looking up at the person, he got wind of something he didn't like. He couldn't really describe it, but there was something about the presence that was now overhead that made him uncomfortable. Somehow, seeing that person overhead made him feel as uneasy as he had felt around that Millia woman. Maybe even more so…

Truth be told, there was no way for him to tell whether or not the figure _was_ Millia. He couldn't see much. All he could see was a dark silhouette of a humanoid head. The sun had caused it to become a shadow from Axl's point of view, and he couldn't make out anything else. He couldn't even see the shape of the head. Some sort of hood had been drawn over the top of it. In fact, there was really no proof that this was someone at all and not just some loose piece of junk that was hanging over the side. At least, there wasn't initially…before Axl saw it move.

The hood was turning slowly, indicating that whatever set of eyes was under it was scanning the ravine. It didn't take a genius to deduce that whoever it was was looking for him. He certainly hadn't noticed anyone watching his fight with "Cousin Itt" while he was in the midst of trying to survive her assault, but it was entirely possible. And there'd be no other reason to duck your head into a ravine other than you saw something you wanted had fallen into it. Here, Axl could have deduced that this person might be trying to help, trying to see if he was still alive…

Somehow, though, he knew that wasn't true. For one thing, the person should have been yelling down for him. Even if he couldn't see him (which he found himself wishing more and more that he couldn't), he should have been able to hear him if he was conscious. This person was looking for him, but he had a feeling that he or she didn't want him to know that he or she was looking for him. As time went on, and the person continued to gaze down into the crevice, Axl began to wonder if the person could, in fact, see him. He had crawled up a lot of the way, and he might be in the range for sunlight to hit. Or the guy could actually be staring in the darkness and waiting for his or her own eyes to adapt. On this note, he found himself pressing himself more against the rock and trying to stay still.

Time ticked by a bit longer, with Axl staring up at that black hood and hoping it wasn't staring back at him. Yet as he did that, it finally hit him. He had seen this figure before. He remembered seeing it on that news broadcast. This person had to be the host of the tournament. That would explain why he or she didn't want Axl to know he or she was there if he or she was looking for him. The host didn't want anyone to catch him or her so easily. On realizing that, a crazy impulse went through him. Stay quiet…but crawl up. Catch the person off guard. Meet with the host. After all, the person had said all you had to do was find him or her, right? He'd win. Then he could get his wish. He'd be able to settle right now whether or not he could get back to Megumi through this tournament, and he could already call it a day one way or another before he even got too far to remember the way back to shore.

However…his body, and perhaps his subconsciousness, wasn't buying it. Whoever this figure was, he suddenly felt as if the host had nothing good planned for him. This wasn't a person looking for a survivor. This was someone looking for a body (one way or another), and for who knew what purpose. Perhaps it was only a boyish, childish fear…but he had a feeling that if he dragged himself out while the figure could still see him that he would be throwing himself before some hungry lion. His basic instincts, which had never let him down, told him to stay quiet and stay in this crevice. After a few moments longer, he managed to rationalize this fear. Perhaps the host himself or herself was competing? If so, then he was in no shape to fight. He had to heal up first. He could always tail the figure…

At last, the hood lifted up. On seeing it rise, Axl realized that the person hadn't just been looking down. The person had been crouched next to the crevice. Yet soon after, the person turned away. From this far down, and in such a closed space, Axl could only hear his own breath and slight movements. He didn't hear any footsteps. Yet the moment that the person was gone, he felt a bit less afraid. His inner feeling of dread and terror disappeared. He almost hated himself for letting the host go just like that. However, part of his inner psyche reassured him. There had been a danger there. No question about it. He was wise to have lain low.

Yet now that the figure was gone, Axl immediately went to work again. He did so even faster than before, now that he was rested up. Soon, he was scaling the wall like a rock climbing pro. He had to. Axl wasn't a tracker. He couldn't hope to catch this guy if he got too far. He was a bit surprised at his own progress. It only took about four minutes before he was bathed in sunlight again, and feeling the breeze from the world outside nearby. After crawling up a bit more, he managed to put his scythes over the edge and hook them onto the crevice edge. He left them there, and with a bit of a grunt shifted his other hands out and grabbed the edges as fast as he could. Once he was there, he began to pull himself over the top. His head was exposed first, and so he looked out.

He frowned soon after.

Nothing.

Mumbling to himself about being scared like a little wanker, he dragged his body over the rest of the edge. He nearly sprawled himself out on the ground when he did so, going flat against it. When he did, he realized just how hard he was panting. He also realized how sore and tired he was. He needed to take a momentary break. He turned his head on its side and rested for a moment.

That's where he saw it.

Actually, to be more appropriate, this was where he _didn't_ see it. What he did see was that the ground was fine sand and gravel in this part of the ruins. It seemed to run all up and along the crevice for quite a distance. What he could see distinctly were a set of boots that were definitely in woman's sizes. He realized this had belonged to Millia. After he had fallen into the pit, she must have come over and looked to see if he was truly gone, before pacing a bit and then turning to leave.

But the other had left no tracks.

Axl looked a bit puzzled. He lifted his head up, and looked to his other side. Nothing there either. And even if he had sprawled out on top of them and messed them up, he should have seen it in front of him. In either case, there was nothing. Not a single track. He was sure he was on the same side where the person had been. Yet nothing.

Axl blinked at this. Had he imagined the whole thing? Why not? He had been feeling more scared than he usually did. He didn't know why… Maybe it was that darkness and the abyss. Maybe it was the slimy wall or the beating he had just gotten. He could have just imagined that some dark wraith of a figure was looking at him and wanting to gobble him up as soon as he left his protective shadow. Maybe it had just all been a hallucination of some sort… Millia must have hit him harder than he thought…

At any rate, Axl didn't feel too good at the moment. He had to find some place to recover. After that, he was through picking fights with people on this island. He couldn't take too many beatings like this. He was just going to find this guy himself, wherever he or she was, and find out if he or she was for real. If nothing else, he could probably get a boat ride back to shore once this was done if he nabbed the host.

With that in mind, and pushing the thought of a hooded monster watching to see if he still lived out of his mind, he began to stagger back to his feet.

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: Corrupted Flame...


	12. Corrupted Flame

**"Beauty and the Beast"**

* * *

Kliff's feet crunched into the dry sand for a few moments before they came to a halt, standing next to his accomplice. Sol himself had been first out of the boat. For the most part, he was exactly as he had been the other day. The only difference now was that, like Kliff, he was now wearing a large, bandaged bundle behind him, slung over his back. As Kliff stood there, he could hardly keep himself from staring at it. Though in its present form, he couldn't recognize a single detail about it, there was little question to him about what the object was. 

Reaching England had not been a problem. It was landing that was the problem. Kliff, on his part, only wanted to make port at the nearest stop and walk from there. But Sol had spoken against it, saying that it would be more prudent to move further up along the coast to a better area closer to the central portion of the country. There might not have been much basis for it, but basic logic indicated that if the man wanted to keep himself away from being discovered, he would probably hide somewhere within the central region of the country. And moving toward more of the previous metropolitan areas would provide for many more places to hide.

Granted, it did take much longer. It was a few additional hours before the boat managed to round enough of the coast to reach the shore near what had once been England's ports. It did provide a change of scenery, however. Most of the island was overgrown and covered with trees by now, much as it had been before people had ever arrived there. After all, many of the cities had been blown into oblivion, leaving only the land behind. But the war had not yet reached the point in which the land was completely devastated in those days, and so there were a surprising amount of ruins still standing. Such was the case in this area as they drew nearer and nearer.

Kliff was able to look out and saw the ruins of skyscrapers still standing. They had been crumbling for decades, and as he grew closer he saw that many were dirty, overgrown with moss, and were continuing to slowly decay. However, most of them still had ten floors or more standing. They looked like they had been burned and gutted numerous times, leaving only a set of skeletal stone ruins that might, at one point, have been how people viewed Rome or Greece. A few trees had grown up in the city, but between the old sewers and subway systems, the concrete pavement, and the lack of sunlight from the skyscrapers overhead, there was little room for them to take over. It wouldn't be until most of this city had returned to dust that they'd truly begin to move in, and such a thing would take thousands of years yet. At any rate, with the exception of birds and a few smaller mammals, the place had been deserted.

As the boat slid into shore, both Kliff and Sol slowed down and watched carefully. Landing at an actual former port wasn't that wise. A few masts and hulls were poking up from the waves, testifying to the fact that time had sunk every ship that had once been there, and that there were plenty of shallow dangers waiting to tear their boat apart. They did scrape along large objects once or twice, but Sol was a good driver, and his youth enabled him to see a lot more than Kliff did. They managed to get past and to the pier. This particular one had rotted and fallen into the sea, and the pounding waves had worked their ways against the old docks until the shore was growing sandy again. It was here that they found one rotten, yet stable, log protruding from the ground. They pulled the boat up and tied it there.

Not long after, Sol and Kliff had dismounted. They took in their surroundings again. Rising like ancient mountains, the skyscrapers towered to the sky and cast their deep shadows over the two men. It was wet and cool on this part of the island, and a breeze was blowing through the gothic landscape that blew against the two men. Kliff himself felt a chill, but he doubted that Sol did, and if he did he failed to show it. His eyes slowly looked about, and only saw those silent stone sentinels. A bird let out a rather loud and obnoxious caw, but the sound on the wind was enough to make the place look all the more gothic and graveyard-esque.

Kliff didn't like the place. He had been to his share of ruins in his time, but places like this, ones that were quiet and cold, could mean one of two things. One was that the area was long since dead. Two, and more likely, meant that Gears were hiding and waiting to spring on you. He didn't think any were here now despite his earlier misgivings, but that didn't make standing here any easier. It wasn't just the memories. It was the fact that areas like this _were_ like graveyards. They unsettled him. He would take a hot battlefield over a chilly, lifeless landscape any day…

The man turned back to Sol. As expected, he was only grimly surveying the surroundings, but not showing any emotion toward them. Kliff felt it likely that they didn't bother him, but it could just be Sol's attitude. He wouldn't show fear in any situation.

"Looks like we got here." Kliff told him.

Being that it was an obvious statement, he wasn't all too surprised when Sol didn't answer or even look to him.

The old man inhaled after that, and looked back out. A tired sigh passed by his lips.

"So…where now? Do we stick together or split up?"

"We can cover more ground if we split up." Sol finally answered.

Kliff shrugged. "Fine by me. I know I can take care of myself, and I know you can too. But we shouldn't just wander around like lost jackasses. We need some sort of search plan."

In response, Sol pointed straight ahead. A little surprised by this gesture, Kliff turned and looked to see where he was pointing. Far ahead of him, a good mile away at least, was a wall of what looked like black and green. It was hard for Kliff's aging eyes to make it out exactly, but he could tell enough to see that Sol was pointing to a forest that had managed to grow up in this abandoned city. It was likely that there had once been a park or something there that it had managed to grow out of, although it could have simply been a spot of geologic luck where no man-made structures had been placed.

"I'll start there." Sol responded. "There's more cover there and more chance of someone leaving tracks. If I find something, I'll follow its trail. If not, I'll widen the circle using that as a focal point to go around more of the city."

Kliff crossed his arms. "Alright. If that's the case, I'll head to the highest point and get a lookout from there." The old man looked around a bit at the skyline, and then pointed out one particular ruin that still had a good thirty floors on it. "That looks like a good spot. After that, I'll start at the outskirts and circle in toward you. Whoever this bastard is, he's got to have some helluva power source and transmitting tower that'll be damn hard to hide if he was able to pull that other crap."

"We'll meet at that highest point at dusk." Sol answered, seeming to have not heard Kliff's bit about the individual's powers or capabilities. "Let's try to avoid combat with others if we encounter them." Then, as if the matter was closed (which it basically was), Sol began to walk up the beach, letting his boots crunch into the grit and sand as he made his way forward.

Kliff gave out a bit of a snort and kept his arms crossed. Much as he might have disliked most of the perks about being a leader, one thing he definitely wasn't used to was being treated almost like a soldier himself. Even if that person was Sol, it left him feel somewhat uncomfortable. He felt like some basic grunt under the command of a much more powerful officer. And Sol did have that way of making him feel a bit inferior…

Yet the old man pushed it out of his head. There was work to be done. He himself turned to the thirty-story building and began to walk toward it. However, he thought as he walked along, if Sol expected him to try and play it safe and easy with the other residents on the island, he had another thing coming. He had come here to engage in combat, not hide and keep quiet like a civilian. If any of them provoked him, he was going to seize the opportunity to introduce them to the power of Kliff Undersn.

* * *

_Finally…a chance for some answers._

Chipp Zanuff had finally made it. It had not been an easy trip, and it had cost him nearly everything he had left that wasn't attached to his body…but he was here. He was on England.

Naturally, the person who had dropped him off hadn't been too happy to find out that he had no more money, and promptly ditched him. Chipp rejected the urge to throw one of his precious shurikens at the back of his head. He would have deserved it. He could have been leaving him to die, for all the man knew. But he couldn't afford it. He had to save this for the true targets. He couldn't afford to be emotive or lose control again.

Chipp was certain that he had found a way to get answers when he heard about this tournament. Initially, he thought it was simply some idiot spouting nonsense, and because of his current mission he didn't care too much about it. That changed quickly once he found out that Zato-1 and Millia Rage, two renown assassins in the criminal underworld, were competing. Of the two, Chipp was far more interested in taking down Zato-1. He was the head of the Assassin Syndicate. If anyone knew about professional assassins being contracted to kill Tsuyoshi, he was the one.

Chipp was convinced at this point that if two high profile assassins like that were here, then all this whole tournament had to be was another opportunity for assassination. It was some planetary game they were playing in order to take out another target. He wouldn't be surprised if Zato-1 himself was the guy who had changed his voice and sent this message out. Maybe he was trying to take out anyone who was a threat to him. He seriously considered killing Zato-1 when he met him… He'd be doing the world a favor by getting rid of another murderer. He just might as well. But first…he had to know what he knew. He had to find him, Millia, or any of his other peons and make them talk.

Ninjas weren't suited to going out and actively picking a fight. Surprise and stealth were their greatest weapons. As such, Chipp wasn't searching the continent to find his targets. At least…not yet. He had a feeling he should wait and try to pick one up at first. Small or large, it didn't matter. That one would provide a stepping stone to get closer to the true goal. After all, wasn't the objective that you had to defeat everyone else? One way or another, he and the other fighters had to meet. He was perfectly happy with them coming out to meet him first. There, the advantage was all his.

It hadn't taken long for Chipp to find a good spot to hide. The urban jungle that he had initially arrived in would have potentially been good enough, but it was too cumbersome and ruined to move quickly through. You would mostly be stuck to windows of a single building unless you could jump the street, which Chipp couldn't, and there was no telling how many of the foundations would crumble from a move like that if he could. Luckily, this island had lots of another valuable resource: forests. This was actually the young ninja's first time in one, yet he enjoyed them already. There was lots of cover, plenty of places to swing out and attack from, and uneven ground all over the place. Chipp was already getting a feel for the land himself, having spent hours here already. It wasn't just in scoping out the terrain. It was in concentrating and trying to sense the way the wind moved through the area…how the trees seemed to lean…how the true landscape moved underneath the roots… Tsuyoshi had treated this sort of behavior in a metaphysical sense, saying you were actually feeling the spirit of the surroundings. Whatever it was, soon Chipp realized where everything was, and knew the place like the back of his own hand. Now the terrain advantage would be his.

Chipp regretted not having better clothing for this occasion. In reality, he was wearing the worst of both worlds. A black shirt and white pants. A black shirt was a dead giveaway in daylight, while you stuck out in the smallest light at night while wearing white pants. In the end, he had scooped up some mud and pressed it against his pants in an attempt to blot them out. Then he took his position on a good tree.

The tree was old and thick…possibly older than the war that had created the rest of the trees around it. It creaked a bit, but not for Chipp. Ninja knew how to control their breathing and even their weight. He was able to settle in on it without making the slightest noise. Only the wind now shifted it. He lay down somewhat on one of the thicker branches, so that his thin body would be mostly blocked from view below. The trunk of the tree itself helped block him from most other angles. The branch was a good thirty feet above the ground, and he was able to tilt his head in just such a way that he had a good look below. Not that he needed it that much. His hearing was top notch, and he had long since acclimated himself to the sounds of the forest and screened them out, leaving only any new sound audible.

There, Chipp waited for another few hours. He had arrived late last night, but he had been in his spot since dawn. The sun was now high in the sky, and the clouds that had dominated it earlier had cleared. Still he sat motionless, even as the forest began to grow humid and uncomfortable, and the sun that parted through leaves to touch his bare neck began to burn it. That was painful…but the humidity was nothing. Chipp had gotten good enough to control his own temperature. He was fine there, and continued to wait for someone to come along.

Chipp, single-minded in his goal, was still perfectly alert and primed for action…when he finally heard something.

The slightest depression of feet against the forest floor.

Chipp, internally, immediately braced for readiness. However, he had to admit…he was rather surprised. Even after screening out the sounds of the forest, he could barely hear this. This was intriguing. Based on the heaviness, he could only assume one of two things. One was that this person was abnormally light, in which case it would seem unlikely that the person would have enough mass to go anywhere. The other was to assume that this person was doing it on purpose. If so, then he was a bit amazed. The techniques he had learned to soften his own step weren't easy, and were hard to come by in terms of tutors. Whoever this person was had to have had an interesting background. However, at the same time, Chipp immediately thought that such skills would only belong to a person who was using them to kill in a very efficient way…which made him immediately suspect the identity of who was coming. Nevertheless, he waited. He wanted to see who it was first.

The sound came closer, staying quiet as it did so. Chipp dared not move his head to give himself away, and so he was forced to stare at blank space for a few moments as the person drew closer. A minute or so went by. The person's footsteps drew very near, and it wasn't long before Chipp knew the person had to be beneath him. Still, however, based on his position, he couldn't see him. But from his footsteps, he could tell that the man was moving slowly…perhaps even cautiously. This again intrigued Chipp. Did he know he was there? If so, the idea made him a bit more uncomfortable…

Yet only a moment later, he passed out from under the branch and into Chipp's line of vision. At last he got a good look at him. He was a rather strong-looking man, though he wasn't hulking like a bodybuilder. He dressed in a black sleeveless shirt and white pants, although they weren't the same style as Chipp's. He had pieces of some sort of uniform incorporated into most of his attire too. His hair was black and spiked, tied back with a large headband, and he had some sort of bundle on his back that seemed to be a sword or weapon of some sort. He couldn't make out what it was.

Chipp's first instinct, surprisingly…was fear. He had no idea why, but as he spotted this person, something about him seemed intimidating and powerful…far more powerful than him. Chipp had to struggle not to wince or shake his head. He did blink a few times, and that cleared his senses a bit. That was a ridiculous thought. To a ninja, power and speed didn't necessarily win a battle, but skill. And he had no reason to think these things about this person. He didn't even know who he was. Yet as he looked on, he began to think he had an idea. This person looked big and tough enough… He was probably a goon for the Assassin Syndicate.

Chipp's next instinct was to strike. The man hadn't slowed anymore than he had already, and he wasn't looking back to him. One shuriken was all it would take to put him down. Or he could leap out of the tree and employ the blade strapped to his wrist. However…neither of these ideas appealed incredibly to him. Much as he might dislike assassins, it did no good to kill them for no reason.

And so, Chipp's third instinct was to grab him. That was easy enough. He was in a perfect position to deliver an ambush. After that, he could ask him whatever he wanted to know. Chipp was more than capable of making a person talk. However…as he looked on at this stranger a bit longer…he began to second guess himself. This guy was different from the other peons he had beaten up. This one looked cool and calm in his movement. He didn't waste much of his energy, and, as Chipp had thought earlier, it turned out that he was indeed stepping lightly through the forest. This guy had to have some real skill on him. He might not be a cream puff after all, not even to Chipp's abilities.

Yet just sitting around in a tree wasn't going to get anything done. Besides…he couldn't wait to avenge his master. He had decided to go for it.

Chipp waited just a moment longer, until the stranger was just in the right position. After that, he finally shifted. Now that he knew that his eyes weren't anywhere near him, he could move freely so long as he stayed silent, which he did. Abruptly, his entire body rose up from the tree branch. Moving without anymore sound than the passing breeze, he tucked his legs up and underneath him and went into a squat. Then, still moving silently, the man leapt off from the tree and straight for the stranger.

Only when his body was falling through the air did Chipp make a real noise…the sound of the wind rushing. This was an effect Tsuyoshi had told him that some ninjas called "the silent breeze of death". It was an apt name, for frequently it was the only sign that a victim heard from a ninja before he or she struck…not to mention the last thing they heard.

And yet, as Chipp fell forward through the air and toward the man, his eyes seemed to play tricks on him a split second before he reached him… Something nearly made his cold, stony face turn to puzzlement…

_Did he…stop right before I reached him?_

_Did he actually hear me?_

Chipp realized a split second later he couldn't have. That was because he didn't react when Chipp did land, and the advantage was once again his. In a flash, he moved and twisted both of his arms forward, underneath the stranger's, and then up into a full nelson. However, this one was a tad different. Chipp aimed his blade forward when he brought one of his wrists up, and aimed it at the man's neck. With one gesture, he could slice off his head easily. Yet he made no move immediately. He simply held him in that position.

"Struggle and I'll kill you." Chipp immediately stated.

To his surprise, the man didn't even go rigid. In fact, other than stopping, no change had happened. His breathing was still regular. His pulse was still calm. Most people were on the brink of wetting themselves by now. This guy didn't change in the least. That was a bit unsettling to the man…but he held his position. Seeing as his captive wasn't doing anything, he spoke to him.

"Are you Zato-1?"

The man didn't answer.

Chipp's eyes narrowed. "Should I take that to mean that you are?"

No response.

"If you are, I want you to tell me everything you know about the hit that was put on Tsuyoshi in St. Louis five days ago."

Still no answer.

By now, Chipp was starting to get angry. He tightened his arms up and pressed the blade closer. "Talk!"

"No." The man calmly answered.

Chipp was actually taken aback by that response. It wasn't the defiant wording…it was the fact that the man was so calm about it. He didn't even look like he cared that he was currently in a position to be killed with one flick of Chipp's wrist.

After a moment, the man emboldened again, and pushed his blade more roughly against him, beginning to bend his skin. "I'm serious here."

"So am I." The man continued, still rather calm. "I don't answer the questions of people who threaten me, especially not people who don't care who they kill to get revenge."

Again, Chipp found himself taken aback. Out of all the responses that he could have put forth, this was the least one he expected.

"…What did you say?"

"Your words have already told me all I needed to know." The stranger continued. "Whoever this Tsuyoshi was, it's obvious that he meant a lot to you. I doubt he would approve of you going around assaulting whoever you saw as a means of avenging him. By now, your desire for revenge is blinding you. You've reasoned that this tournament is a means of getting revenge, and now you can't think of anything else but that. All that matters is getting your answers, even if it means killing. At this point, it doesn't even matter if you're killing innocent or guilty people. The world is hiding something from you, and you won't stop until you find it. Everyone is becoming your enemy. If you continue this, you'll soon lose your own soul in the process."

Chipp was frozen. The stranger was so calm and sturdy in his voice that it was almost unsettling. It forced him to listen even when he didn't want to. And the words themselves were amazing and probing. It conjured up old images in his brain…thoughts of when he indeed had little of his own soul left, and when he had acted out of anger and sadistic pleasure. Soon, he began to feel doubts inside. Some of those people he had crippled and killed…they had to have been low level thugs like him at one point. They may have not truly known anything. Was he all that different at one point? And Tsuyoshi had treated him with mercy… Shouldn't he have been the same way? Couldn't he have done something to spare their lives and change them? Wasn't that what his master had done for him? Thinking these things for the first time, his blade slowly began to move away from the stranger's throat…

Unfortunately, at that moment, he grit his teeth and shook his head, snapping out of it. Why should he listen to this guy? He could be one of them for all he knew. He still hadn't answered his question. He could be Zato-1 himself, couldn't he? And now, he realized his position. He was lowering his blade. In another moment, he could have taken it off of him…and then he could have had his own head sliced off by this man. Why should he trust him? What if he was trying to lull him into a false sense of security in the first place?

With that in mind, Chipp's anger returned, and he pushed the blade again.

"I don't need advice from some scumbag like you." He coldly snapped. "I'm giving you to the count of three, and then I'm taking your head off. One…"

Chipp didn't get any closer than that, for at that moment the prisoner seemed to become almost like fluid in his hands. With a move so quick and slippery that Chipp didn't even realize it had happened until the man was getting in front of him, the stranger suddenly twisted his body and slipped out of the full nelson and in front of the ninja. The strangest thing of all, however…was that Chipp could feel his blade against his skin. It seemed to not give him a "close shave", like it should have…but rather rolled off of his skin as he slipped out…

In moments, the stranger was standing in front of him…and had turned to face him. Now, Chipp, for the first time, looked into his eyes. To his shock…they were burning and piercing. They seemed to dip into his soul and burn at it. Despite his strength and focus…he actually felt his eyes widen as he took a step back.

"Get out of here." The man simply instructed. After that, he turned away and calmly began to walk once again.

Chipp was once again momentarily stunned. However, this lasted even shorter. He took this as an insult, that the man was saying that he wasn't even worth his time. That only increased his anger even further. He forgot that someone had to be rather skilled to have escaped from him that easily, and thought only of getting revenge.

Forgetting one of the rules of ninjitsu, he called out a challenge.

"Don't you turn your back on me!"

With that, Chipp squatted and then leapt back and up into the air. Thanks to his natural abilities and training, the result sent him up and back toward the canopy. As he did, he flashed his hand out at the man's back, flinging a shuriken at him as he did so.

As Chipp went up onto a tree branch, and immediately leapt up again to the next one, he received another surprise. His shuriken sailed straight for the back of the man's head, and he didn't seem to realize it was coming at all. Yet right before it could land, the man whirled around in a snap and shot out two fingers. To his surprise…he caught the shuriken easily between the two, a move that should have been impossible given the speed. Only Tsuyoshi himself would have been able to do that…and then only if he saw it coming. For him to have done it after turning so quickly…

Yet Chipp's anger blinded his ability to realize how difficult his opponent was. He simply leapt back silently again, putting himself deeper in the canopy. By now, he realized he had to be vanishing from sight, getting back into his element. As for the stranger below, he finally had gotten him to turn and do something…

That thought, however, was soon terminated. The stranger didn't stand his ground. He lightly tossed the shuriken aside without a thought, turned, and then began to calmly walk away again.

Chipp's eyes widened again. That blade could have killed him, but he didn't even seem to care about it. That made the young man even angrier. Enough was enough. This man had asked for it, and he was going to get it. He was going to stand his ground and fight if it was the last thing he ever did…which, at this point, it might be if he kept making Chipp angrier…

Abruptly, the young man leapt out of the canopy and sailed straight down for the stranger's body. This time, he had his blade out and aimed for his back. He was sloppier this time, brushing through the trees as he came down. As a result, the man turned around much quicker, although he was still calm in his mannerisms, and staring plainly as he came for him. But the young man didn't care. Chest or body didn't matter to him…

Yet right before the blade could land…the stranger simply twisted to one side. Based on the range, it had to have taken an immense amount of focus and speed to have avoided it in time. Yet Chipp was growing angry now, and didn't care. Quickly, he swished his blade back to cut him open from the side next. Yet the stranger was still fast, and to his amazement nimbly yanked his body back and around the path of the blade, missing it entirely. Chipp next brought his blade up and sliced for the man's face in a figure eight pattern. Yet as smoothly as if he was somehow attached to the blade or Chipp's movements, the stranger's head bobbed out of the way each time.

Seeing this, Chipp's teeth grit as he drove his fist forward, seeing if punching could accomplish what his blade did not. Only now did the man swing his arm up and deflect his hit, finally making contact with Chipp. It was an unsettling sensation to make contact with him. To his surprise, the muscle was like iron, and his skin almost seemed to burn on touching him…

Yet Chipp shook this off and swung his blade around and back for his head again, while his hand was still blocked. To his amazement, the stranger blocked this as well, somehow reacting to the speed of Chipp's blade and managing to strike his weapon aside at the flat part of his blade, missing the edges entirely. But since his arms were not held in any way, Chipp reacted by snapping back and away from him, and swinging out a kick for his face. The stranger once again reacted, swinging his head back as he did so.

This time, however, Chipp wasn't letting up. He immediately snapped his arm around and flung another shuriken at the man. He dodged this one as well, but he had to move faster to do it. Chipp actually saw his muscles tighten a bit, and his face shift, as he twisted his body, still bent back, to the side to avoid the shuriken striking it. Seeing him in this awkward position, Chipp immediately attacked again. After planting both feet on the ground, he lunged forward and raised up one foot to smash right into the stranger's face.

The man looked at him, and his lips parted every so slightly to show surprise. He brought his arms up to block, but it was nearly too late. He only got one arm up in time to intercept it, crossing his other arm behind it only moments later. Even so, the impact struck, and to Chipp's pleasure the man actually staggered back about a step.

Taking this as a good sign, Chipp used the recoil from striking his arm to snap back and land on the ground. Immediately, he did a series of backflips to put distance between him and his opponent, and then sprung backward and up into the canopy once again. Another hop later, and he was again out of view of his opponent. He was pleased to see that in the time it had taken him to get out of view, the stranger had only just put his arms back and gotten his balance. He felt confident now.

Another thing confirmed this a moment later. His opponent did not turn and run away this time. He stood his ground. As his arms went back to his sides, his gaze turned up to the trees and began to look at them. He still didn't draw his weapon, but that was alright by Chipp. He only wanted him to stay and fight. Now he was in his element. He was hidden in the trees, and he could strike out any way or time that he wanted. With that in mind, he once again controlled his breathing and his weight and began to move throughout the branches.

The stranger didn't move. He looked around for an attack, but didn't actively search. Another good move on his part. By standing his ground, he had control over all of his weak sides and strengths, and knew which way Chipp would likely pick without having to distract himself with movement. Yet to him, that didn't really matter. He moved throughout the trees until he found himself at a good point…and then lunged out from the canopy again and straight for him.

Chipp moved faster this time, and the stranger himself turned to him just as he began his attack. His blade had aimed for his neck just now, and he barely managed to swing back to avoid it slicing into it. Once Chipp's feet were planted, however, he brought his blade around to move after his neck. It was only through bending himself back again that he was able to avoid it slicing through his throat. However, he was once again in an awkward position, and Chipp proceeded to swing out with his leg and catch the stranger's from behind, moving to trip him. Although their limbs locked and Chipp was able to pull it back, the stranger himself only staggered a moment before pulling the rest of his leg back and engaging in a flip himself. It was a clumsy flip, and he was too close to the ground when he did it. He barely managed to land on all fours when he came out of it. Thinking this was a sign of his superiority, Chipp grinned as he leapt back into the canopy.

The stranger recovered quickly, however, getting back onto both of his feet in no time. Yet as he rose again, Chipp was once again in the canopy and ready for him. The stranger made his hands into fists and searched momentarily, while the ninja moved about and looked for a good spot to attack again. After a moment, he got an idea. He quickly reached into his belt and pulled out two more shurikens, and then flung them at the man's opposite side.

Once again, as predicted, the man snapped his head to them as he saw them coming. He twisted to avoid one, but apparently he had learned his lesson this time and didn't twist more to avoid the next. Instead, he lunged two fingers out again and touched this one, catching it like he did before. Yet he soon found no choice but to twist further…for Chipp himself followed his second shuriken on its heels. The stranger barely had time to twist his head away before his foot sailed by his head. Even so, his weight was too unbalanced to recover before Chipp landed on the ground. His blade popped out and went for the man's head again.

Bending back yet again, the stranger arched backward and swung his arm up to deflect the blade again. Somehow he managed to avoid the edge once more as he forced it up, but Chipp soon gave him more trouble by throwing his weight on it as he lunged and leapt over his head. This force should have put his opponent's weak arm down and enabled Chipp to force his weapon down on his skull or neck. Yet somehow, the man kept his iron arm rigid, and held the blade away as Chipp flipped over him. The ninja was only slightly disappointed, however. Even this man couldn't keep his blade from breaking his skin this time. The edges were shoved down onto the side of his hand, and small slivers of blood began to ooze out from the sides.

Yet this was yesterday's news by that point. Chipp continued his flip over his body and landed behind him. Immediately, he sprung up again and went back into the safety of the canopy. As for his opponent, he put his arm down and snapped around behind him. He still had his one shuriken in his hand, and his piercing gaze once more stared at the trees. Chipp himself moved around, making sure not to be seen. He kept his eyes on the man, however, and waited for him to make a move first this time. An instant later, he did. He abruptly snapped his wrist and flung his own shuriken back into the trees.

Chipp struggled not to laugh. His blade was headed right for a stick dummy he had hastily constructed while bouncing around the branches. Oldest ninja trick in the book. However, even as his own weapon impacted it, and sent the log with dark and white clothing on it falling to the ground, Chipp leapt out of the tree and for the man's back again. This time, he took a while in reacting, no doubt learning that he had made a mistake in attacking the wrong target. He was only half turned when Chipp was moments from bringing his blade against his cheek. When his blade impacted and he turned his head away, Chipp wasn't able to be certain that it wasn't his own weapon stabbing him in the fact that was doing it.

However, he didn't wait to make certain. Now, the advantage was fully his. Immediately, the back of his fist, the one attached to his blade, swung out. He felt flesh mould against it as it finally hit the man's head and snapped it slightly. Immediately, he brought his other fist forward and smashed it into his face, once again registering heat and impact. To finish off, he brought one of his legs up and lashed out, driving a blow into his side with powerful force. He didn't hear any bones break, but he was sure he hit around the kidney. Satisfied with this light beating, he sprung back once again, and once more went into the canopy.

As Chipp was soon safely in hiding again, he looked back to his damage. The man had staggered underneath his blows, and was now hunched slightly, his head bowed and one arm partially around his chest, from where he had been hit last. Confidence surged through the ninja. The man hadn't even hit him yet. He was beating him easily. He had to have been hallucinating or something earlier. This guy may have been dark, and he might have lasted longer than most opponents, but he was toast. He was doing great against him. One or two more beatings, and he'd be too dizzy and slow to fight back anymore. He'd see if he wanted to keep his mouth shut then…

A moment later, and the stranger slowly raised his head. His face was still stern and didn't have a gaping slash in it, but Chipp was still pleased to see that one of his cheeks was cut and bleeding. He stiffened himself out again a moment later, raising straight and tall and not looking hurt. But Chipp didn't fall for it. He knew the man had to be sore by now. He was faking, just as he had been from the start. This fight was as good as over.

Because of that, Chipp was somewhat surprised at what he heard next.

"Surrender now…while you still can." The man calmly announced.

Chipp's face turned to puzzlement. He stared blankly at the person. Again, he had to repress the urge to chuckle and ask him if he had hit him that hard.

"I've now seen the extent of your abilities." The stranger continued. "You're highly skilled. I'll give you that. But you are completely outclassed in every way. If I raise my ability to battle, I can't guarantee I won't seriously hurt you. This is your last warning."

Chipp stared a moment longer, but then frowned and nearly snorted. This guy wasn't fooling anyone. He was just bluffing. He was no match for a ninja, and he knew it. Now, Chipp wasn't just upset at him outdoing him in some categories. He was mad at him acting like he was still the one in control of this fight. This guy didn't even show much surprise the entire battle. He wanted to wipe that look off his face…and he wanted to now. It would be the only way he'd talk when this was done.

With that in mind, Chipp planned his next move. He looked around a bit, and spotted a nice sized branch behind the man. He quickly doled out another shuriken, and took an aim at it. He would sever its stalk and send it falling behind the stranger. He'd turn, and expose himself to Chipp from behind. Then he'd take off an arm or other appendage this time. That would decrease the fight in him…

Deciding, Chipp flung out his arm and let the shuriken sail to its mark. A moment later, and a "thock" sound rang out as the branch was severed, and began to fall behind the man. Immediately, Chipp himself took off, bent his arm so that his elbow and blade were sticking straight out, and dove for the stranger once again…

This time…he received a shock.

The stranger didn't even turn this time around. Instead, he stood his ground…and before Chipp could realize what was happening, he found himself sailing straight for the man's front. However, his speed was still good, and he expected the man to try and dodge again. Again, he received a surprise. The man didn't. Instead, he _advanced_ on Chipp. While dodging his blade, he drove one arm forward in a block, and intercepted Chipp's arm with the blade on it at the forearm, proceeding to tighten up and hold it back, keeping it from swinging out. The ninja was surprise at this move…and as a result was able to do little as his fist shot out and smashed him in the face.

The blow was powerful…stronger than anything Tsuyoshi had ever hit him with. He felt his body ripped out of the air and flung backward, and a moment later he smashed on the ground, his body thrown over roots, rather hard. He went limp for a moment against it, feeling pain flood his face…and surprise flood his mind.

How had he moved so quickly? How had he known about the trap? He hadn't indicated anything like this yet… But after a moment, Chipp reasoned his move had been telegraphed too much. He had to have expected an attack from behind after the last move. That's why he was ready. He had gotten too cocky. He'd do better this time.

Chipp recovered enough to move, but he stayed low for a moment longer. He wanted the man to think he had hit him enough to knock him out. He didn't hear any movement, but he reasoned he had to have lowered his guard after a few moments. When that happened, Chipp abruptly sprung back to his feet. Once he did, he was surprised to find out that he was a bit dizzy…and that some of the warmth wasn't pain, but was now rolling over his lips and down his chin. But he ignored it. Immediately, he shot forth for his enemy again. He leapt into the air, extended his leg, and sailed right for his neck this time. That'd be harder to dodge…and if he did, he'd follow up with his other leg and then his blade…

But the man didn't dodge. Instead, he swung his arm up and around, hitting the flat of Chipp's leg as it neared him. The block actually gave his leg a numbing jolt and what almost felt like fire as it was knocked to the ground. Chipp actually winced a bit in pain…before the man drove his fist forward again. It moved like lightning this time, even faster than Chipp could move or see. As his leg went down, exposing his open torso to the stranger, the man smashed him once in the stomach, seeming to nearly put an indentation in it, and then again in the face. Like a rag doll, Chipp was bent and then smacked out of the way, sailing harder this time, before he smashed into a tree trunk and slumped to the ground.

Chipp was rather dizzy when he managed to look up this time. His guts ached, and he felt a bit sick. His mouth was filling with blood, and as he spat to one side…he saw a tooth come out with it. But through it all, he managed to look back up to the stranger. He hadn't even shifted weight since announcing his plans. Chipp looked for a moment longer…but then felt his anger begin to swell again. His remaining teeth began to grit, and his eyes glared angrily at him.

Immediately, the youth crouched and leapt back up into the branches. Doing so made him pause when he landed. He felt rather sick and dizzy now, and the world was swirling as his stomach turned. Blood dribbled out from his mouth and nose. Angry as he was, he soon realized that he wasn't in good shape. He had taken too many hits. He had to be more careful. With that in mind, he paused only a moment, but then began to move around the branches again. As he did, he reached into his belt and pulled out more strips of cloth, and set up not one but two dummies as he moved around. He needed time to breathe…time to think of something else…

As he did this, the man did finally move. He shifted his legs, took a few steps to one side, and then bent and snatched up something. Unfortunately, Chipp's brain was too rattled to be able to react to this or fling a shuriken before he raised up again. When he did, however, he noticed that he was holding one of the discarded throwing weapons. Chipp immediately stood still and went quiet. He obscured himself behind a deal of leaves, and tensed up. He waited for the man to hit one of the two dummies, and then he'd spring on him again.

Yet although Chipp was more hidden than the dummies…the stranger immediately turned to him. An instant later, and the weapon went whizzing through the air far faster than any of Chipp's own strikes, and the ninja felt it cleave against his leg. The youth's eyes widened, and he gave out a cry of pain. He was breaking ninja rules…but his brain was so shaken up, and the pain so sudden and unexpected, that he broke his breathing and weight control techniques. As he reached down for his leg…his weight grew too heavy and the branch snapped. Seconds later, and he was sailing out from the air and back down to the ground again. His bleeding leg was still outstretched…and a moment later the full weight of the fall went against it. A cracking sound resulted as he landed, and his eyes widened in agony. But before he could scream, his own head struck a higher tree branch, smashing another bloody smear against his skull before he finally collapsed.

Now, Chipp didn't stay quiet. As his injured, bleeding body sprawled out against the ground, he began to cry out in pain and writhe in misery. Part of his body was crumpled up while the rest of his limbs hung loosely everywhere. Agony flooded his senses. He couldn't think straight. Tsuyoshi's training slipped his mind. Pain was all he could think of. That…and his opponent.

Somehow, Chipp managed to look back up to the man. He was still calm as ever. In fact…the blood on his cheek seemed to have disappeared. He couldn't even see the cut that well through his blurred eyes. He was still a picture of heat and muscle. By now, it would have been obvious to anyone that it was time to surrender. Yet Chipp only grew angrier on seeing this. It was mocking him…insulting him and his memory of Tsuyoshi…withholding what he _had_ to know… His face tightened, and the blood mixed with sweat from pain as his teeth gnashed again.

Ignoring his broken leg and the uneven ground, Chipp lunged back onto his feet. Bringing his blade back, he gave out a cry of rage as he dashed forward. Despite the fact that he was injuring his leg even more and too dizzy and stumbling to go straight, he headed for the stranger as best as he could with murderous intent. He was soon on him, and bringing his blade forward to cut right through him.

Chipp's brain was never even able to register the speed at which he was beaten. In a flash, the stranger's arm went out and smacked his blade aside. Second later, two fists crumpled his stomach, although he could barely register more than one hitting him, seeing as fast as it was. Thus stunned, mouth agape, all air out of his lungs, he was easy prey for a follow up uppercut that smashed him under his jaw and nearly knocked him senseless. As it was, his body was ripped off as he felt his facial bones break, and his form went limp as it sailed up into the air a few feet before slowing and coming down again. As it did, the man swung his leg around and smashed its hard again into Chipp's chest in a roundhouse kick. This time, two of his ribs did break before he was flung violently backward and smashed into another tree.

This time, he hit with such impact that the world vanished into blackness.

* * *

Chipp felt a horrible pounding in his head as he woke up later. 

That was all he could register immediately. His body felt like it was on fire, unable to register anything that had happened to it. His senses were fried. He couldn't even remember what had happened or where he was.

Yet as time ticked by, his body slowly began to numb from the severe pain it had been through. He swallowed a few times, and felt that his mouth was filled with coppery tastes. It was his blood, having dried from his open mouth. It was encrusted over most of his face, and was plastering some leaves to his skin. One of his arms was nearly numb already, for his crumpled body had been lying on it for who knew how long. His other was sprawled out, along with his legs, across the rough terrain. He felt a dozen severe pains in his body, and the rest of it felt like he was on fire. He felt both sick and dizzy as well. His eyes cracked…and his vision was swirled and sickening. However…he did manage to see where he was. It was the forest…

Chipp attempted to move a moment after…but it was no use. Everything felt broken, even if it wasn't. He had to lie there a bit longer and get more of his bearings. Slowly, his memory began to return. He had been in a fight with that stranger…the stranger who felt like fire embodied. He was the one who had struck him… Even now, Chipp could remember each place he had touched him. He could almost feel his flesh tingle, as if burned, in each of those spots. He couldn't remember the end of the fight. All he could remember was lunging for the man at the end…then pain…and then this. However, as he lay there, he began to realize one thing that was clear. He had lost.

The ninja swallowed again. Obviously, the man hadn't killed him. He was still here and still alive. He was in bad shape, though. At this point, he should probably have tried to find a way to get back to the mainland and get to a hospital. Yet he banished that thought a moment later. He couldn't do that. He still needed to fight. He needed to find Tsuyoshi's killer. That man…he had to have been Zato-1. Who else was that powerful and brutal? He had to get up. He had to find him. He had to somehow beat him and discover what he knew…

Even as he thought this, however…he saw something new. A pair of black boots suddenly walked forward and stopped right in his visual path. His eyes weakly raised at this. That was odd. His senses were damaged a bit…but even so, he should have heard this person coming. Did he or she too have the ability to walk without sound? He tried to open his eyes more. He didn't know who this was, but it could be foe as easily as friend.

Yet before he could move anything else…a powerful set of hands came down. A shadow fell over him from the figure bending over. The hands shifted and went underneath his armpits. A moment later, and he was strongly yet gently hoisted up. Whoever this person was…he or she was very strong. With no effort at all, his lifeless body was dragged up and off the forest floor and soon back up to full height.

Chipp's eyes were weak. He could only see a blur as he rose up to a position where he could see right in front of him. He looked forward…and thought he saw something white and black colored…and some sort of black hood staring at him. Soon after, one of the arms began to pull off of him, while the other continued to hold him up.

"Hey…" Chipp began to speak through his bloody, dried lips.

That was all he got out before the stranger put his or her free hand into a fist, smashed it forward with sufficient force to break half of Chipp's remaining ribs, sent him flinging back into a tree, this time with enough power to crack it partially, and then send him back into the deep world of darkness.

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: Beauty and the Beast...


	13. Beauty and the Beast

This chapter might be a bit sloppy. I was in a hurry to get it out before I got out of town again.

* * *

**"Beauty and the Beast"**

* * *

_The least you could have done is come with me, April…_

May thought this as she grumbled and continued to walk, stretching out a hand and struggling to push a branch out of her way. The forest was thick here, and it was hard for her small body, strong as it was, to negotiate the mess of fallen logs and vines that had grown in her way. She successfully pushed the branch away, and then tried to step over a log that was nearly to her hip in height. However, as she walked forward, she was yanked back a little. Her anchor had hooked something again. Distracted by this, she released the branch…and it swung back to smack her in the face. Giving a yelp, she missed her step and tripped on the log anyway, banging her knee in the process.

Infuriated and sore, the girl gave a yell, brought her anchor around, and swung it so hard in front of her that she shredded the vine, the branch, the log, and the ground in front of her, sending out a massive shudder through the area as he plowed it into the soil. The birds in the area immediately gave frightened yells and took off, and the forest mammals ran for it. Once they were gone, the leaves that May had shredded slowly fell to the ground. As they did, they revealed an angry pirate huffing and puffing as she held her giant anchor against the earth.

Then, giving another grunt, she hoisted it up, propped it over one shoulder, and began to walk forward again.

_The things I do for love…_

As the hours had ticked by, May had hated this mission more and more. It was only typical. Being a teenager, she was much more suited to instant gratification and excitement than hard, lonely journeys through an abandoned ruin of an island. Getting here had been bad enough. April must have shaved off a few years of her life with the chaotic tumble to this godforsaken place. They had nearly drowned and crashed at least ten time on the approach, only to discover on landing that there was nowhere to set her down. As it turned out, they had to move a few miles inland before they finally found a ruin with enough runway to set down the Johnny Prop. After that, taking a sack with only a few meager supplies, May was dropped off and left to win the tournament.

However…May soon realized this was more like a treasure hunt than a tournament. The island was abandoned, and there were no signs or lights or anything pointing the way to where this was supposed to start, or who she was supposed to fight. She found herself alone in the middle of this uninhabited piece of land, not knowing where to go or what to do. Worst of all, she soon realized, she had forgotten to take a radio with her…not that she would have been able to contact the May Ship from this distance. The thought upset her. After rejecting all of her various plans, the plan that her friends had decided on turned out to be the most half-baked of all. Now she was lost, not knowing how far she was from anything, with no way of contacting April or finding any person on the island that was hosting the tournament. With this in mind, she grumbled and began to make her way through the landscape.

May had already crossed through two abandoned cities and several large stretches of forest and grassland, and she was getting tired of it. She did have a compass, but it was only leading her through more wilderness. She thought they had approached from the Southwest, but she had been walking Southeast for hours now, and still couldn't see or hear the ocean. She came across no signs of life as she walked along. The place was completely vacant, with nothing suitable for dwelling out of, drinking, or eating. Or if there was, then May couldn't see them. She was a fighter, not a tracker. And certainly not a navigator. She began to get the feeling that she was getting very lost as she trudged on, and began to fear certain things.

What if they had been mistaken? What if the tournament had been on a different island? Maybe she had meant Ireland and thought England… If that was the case, then they might as well have marooned May. What if she couldn't find her way back to the shore? Even if she could, what if there was no way to contact April? How long were her supplies supposed to last? She began to get chilling visions of seeing a small skeleton dressed in orange pirate attire lying on a beach… After thinking of that, she got another terrifying thought. She had read some story once about a guy stuck on a deserted island with no food, and how he had begun to resort to self-cannibalism…starting at the legs…

May pushed that thought out of her head. She thought of the forest. Yes, the forest. The forest made her angry. Angry was better than fear, despair, or thoughts about when the food would run out. With that in mind, she began to walk forward through the forest again.

Luckily, May didn't have to go much further before things began to even out around her. The vines and vegetation died down somewhat, making her path easier to tread. The trees became thinner, and fewer logs began to go across her path. As she made her way onward, she soon realized the reason. The ground was growing hard, stony, and smooth. She realized that it had to have been pavement at some point in history. This place had overgrown into a forest, but it still had enough of its original pavement to make it only a "light" one. Sure enough, gaps soon began to appear between smaller and smaller trees, and her path became mostly clear.

This was a relief for May, as she walked on. She looked up and around herself, and saw that the canopy was becoming thin overhead, allowing just enough light down to make the girl's journey a pleasant one. She smiled at the sight. Turning her head back down, she gazed a bit more around her. Some ruins of foundations began to spring up on her sides, but each one of them was something light and small. They had to have been small shacks or cottages in their time. Trees and wildflowers had long since removed the roof and grown over the floors. It was actually a little pleasant to see. The girl was soon feeling a bit better about her journey as she continued…

A bit further, and May became conscious of something big just ahead. A large shadow loomed in front of her, but it seemed to take the place of many trees as well, so that the sun could beat down on it. She looked up to it, and kept focusing forward as she picked her way around a few more trees and came up. A few moments later, and she was pushing aside one of the lighter saplings, turning her head out, and looking upon it.

From the midst of the shallow forest and the ruins of small shacks and cottages, one building ruin was rising. It was rather oddly shaped, and it had deteriorated and rotted so much over time that it was impossible to tell what it had once been. What it couldn't have been, however, was likely some sort of residential area. This building was too oddly shaped. Most of it seemed to be made out of cement, and the roof was still intact. There had to be at least ten floors to the place. It appeared to have some sort of commercial or industrial purpose. Or perhaps it was merely intended to be that way. It looked like it might possibly have never been completed. Some of the damage didn't look from wear and tear but from lack of construction.

May looked at this place for a moment. She soon realized that it might be a good place to take a rest for a while. It had shade and probably dry ground, and it looked formidable enough just in case someone or something was on this island and looking unfriendly. And she did prefer a man-made structure to an area that could be swarming with bugs or creepy crawlies. That was another upside to living in the air. No spiders or beetles could ever get to you that high. And so, the girl began to walk toward it.

A few large openings were in the sides of the buildings, looking large enough to accommodate something rather large and partially suspended off of the ground. They looked like they could have been meant for trucks. What mostly attracted her attention was a rusted metal door frame next to these. There was no door there, but it provided access into the darker interior. She made her way there, looking around a bit as she did. She thought she could pick up some signs of weathered gravel, and perhaps even a few girders rising from a muddy pile. She couldn't be certain, however. The tree line stopped before reaching this place, and only mud was on the ground between it and the building. The sun broke through and shone down brightly in May's eyes for a moment, forcing her to squint as she kept going, but soon the shadow of the building itself blocked it out. Once it did, she was free to continue to move and reach the door. On doing so, she passed through and entered.

Inside was dry and cool. There were several large window openings throughout the level that May was on, and she could see cleaner, better-conditioned piles of metal and plaster-like compounds lying around via the sunlight shining through them. Most of it, however, was steel-reinforced concrete walls. There were steel girders supporting the walls and the ceiling, and a basic metal staircase leading upward. There were some leaves that had blown in here, and a few cobwebs in corners…but mostly the place was bare and tidy. May was pleased with it.

With that in mind, the girl walked over to a reasonable sized pile of girders, sat herself down on top of them, and then relaxed. Her anchor was placed aside, and her satchel was opened and examined. She soon found a water bottle and a special energy bar. In older days, bars like these were used by athletes for quick bursts of energy, or so she heard. Yet in modern times, a good-sized meal could be compressed into one of the fruit paste-filled biscuits. Currently they only had blueberry and strawberry, and May didn't care for either of them, but they were quick and easy food and she was hungry. Although she would have preferred a bowl of ramen or, better yet, an egg salad sandwich, she forced it down and washed it with a bit of the water.

It did work, no doubts there. She felt a lot more energy after this brief meal. It helped ease her negative feelings a bit, and she was able to calm down and search her surroundings a bit more. It was quiet around, and somewhat peaceful. She saw the openings with sunlight shining through, and watched a few of the leaves on the floor blow around in the breeze. May let out an exhale and leaned back after seeing this, crossing her legs and bobbing one on top of the other. For a while, she simply sat like this.

Yet once a few moments had passed, the girl exhaled again and rose up to her feet. She took up her anchor and put it over her shoulder. Rest period was over. She had to find her way out of this place.

As she was about to leave, however, her head glanced around the room and looked to the wall where the sunlight was strongest, shining directly through the windows on that side of the building. It just happened to be right over the stairs. On seeing that, she froze and stared at it for a moment.

A second later, and she smiled. Of course. She could climb to the top of this building. The stairs were made of steel and cement. They were sturdy even after over a hundred years. She could climb to the top of the building and look around. She'd be able to see where she was and if she was close to the ocean. Even if she wasn't, that was a better place that most. It was above the ground, and perhaps she could find a way to signal for April from there. That last part was unlikely…but at least she'd have better reception from her radio. And she would have a better chance of being spotted.

Moments later, and May had turned and began to rush over to the stairs. Soon she had reached them, and began to dash up. She continued to hold the massive anchor behind her, supporting it over a shoulder as she went. Up she went one flight, turned, and then went up another one. She emerged onto the second floor. It was a lot like the previous one, only cleaner and now having a few bird nests. She ignored them and turned, going up another two flights to the third floor. After that, she ran around and went up the next two…

However, by the time she reached the last one, May was huffing and puffing a bit. Running up the stairs holding her massive anchor over her back might not have been the best idea. Her own strength might have been able to do it, but weighed down under her weapon she was only as agile and stamina-rich as any normal person. She looked rather miserable and was beginning to sweat by the time she turned the corner and began to run up the last flight. Her eyes sagged a bit as her tongue hung out of her mouth, and her steps had slowed considerably. Sweat was forming on her brow and beginning to run down her cheeks in beads. She nearly staggered up the last few steps…

Still, up the last steps, she ran into the sun full force. The last stairs extended up onto the roof, and as she went out from under the ceiling the rays began to shine down on her. She felt a bit more heat now, no longer sheltered by the trees or cold concrete. She also felt a strong breeze too, and she weakly raised her hand to push down on her hat as she came up this last portion. Her feet scuffled and made a lot of noise as she blundered up the last two steps and set her feet on the much dirtier, more littered roof. She unslung her anchor from over her neck, and let it drop to her side with a rather loud thud, strong enough to crack the outer surface of the cement on the roof. After that, she slumped over and panted further, more drops of sweat falling off of her head and dripping against the ground.

The girl weakly looked up as her tongue continued to hang out of her mouth, turning to survey her surroundings…and abruptly she ceased panting, froze, and let her tongue stay out of her ajar mouth as her eyes widened out of tiredness into surprise.

She wasn't alone.

At first, she thought it was some sort of strange, red and blue colored animal. After all, it seemed far too big and too anatomically incorrect to be anything else. She began to try and remember if England had ever been known for big apes. She also began to wonder if apes, in general, were vicious and aggressive.

However, as she looked on, she realized that the thing had been watching her before she had even arrived on the top floor. She realized she _had_ been making a ton of noise… And now that it saw her, it turned fully around toward her. It was only then that she began to realize that its head was fairly human sized with a male human face, and that although the arms were gigantic this person did look rather humanoid. She also realized he was wearing at least pants and boots, and had a big metal collar around his neck (Was he someone's personal attack dog?). Seeing all this, and she began to realize that this hulk might actually be a person…although he was big and intimidating even for someone who could swing around a huge metal ship's anchor.

The girl was frozen for a bit longer, until the man fully turned to her. But then…her flesh blanched as he suddenly took a step toward her. Then another.

May swallowed and felt her heart begin to race.

"Um…fee, fi, fo, fum?" She felt herself mumble at the hulk's direction.

Surprisingly, the man stopped after hearing this. May's eyes widened. _Don't tell me the giant actually understood that…_

A moment later, and he opened his mouth and spoke. His voice was deep and powerful, sounding almost animal-like itself. It possessed that deep undertone that people with gigantism normally possessed. However, it also was nothing that May could understand. It wasn't just an accent, it was the fact that it was a totally different language. His face was impassive too as he said something to her, and so she couldn't get what he was saying from body language either.

He finished, and when he did May stared at him in puzzlement. She hadn't the slightest idea what he had said, or if he had even asked a question. She knew English, French, and some bits of Old Japanese (the latter of which she had no idea how she had learned in the first place). She had no idea what this guy was saying, but it sounded a bit like the language of Zepp. She couldn't be sure. Zepp was derived from Slavic languages, and all of them sounded the same to her. If it was Zepp, which it might have been…seeing as she saw a barcode tattoo on the person and a collar that looked particular to some slaves…then she was in deep trouble. She only knew a few vague words of Zepp, and most of them were swear words. Those always seemed to stick with you…

"Er…do you speak English?" May ventured after a moment.

The man furrowed his brow slightly. He spoke out another bit of Zepp language that May couldn't understand.

"Um, I really can't make out a word you're saying." May responded. "English? Frances?"

The man's eyebrow furrowed. "Ing-gil-ish?" He sounded back to her.

May frowned and rolled her eyes. "I'll take that as a no…" She moaned.

"Turn-no-meant?"

May looked back up at that. The hulk was pausing, and had slowly sounded out that word. Although it was thick with an accent, May thought she had recognized the words in it. Her eyebrow crooked, and she looked in closer toward the man. "What?"

"Turn-no-meant?" The man slowly asked again, accenting each syllable. When he did this time, however, he pointed one of his massive fingers out and toward May. "Turn-no-meant?"

May continued to looked puzzled. "Tournament?" She asked. "Did you just say, 'tournament'?"

In response, the hulk nodded. Then he pointed at her more vigorously than before. "Tournament?" He asked again, much closer to May's own accent.

May still looked confused. She was wondering what he was trying to ask her. In truth, she wasn't sure she should even try to be talking to him. He was still very much a hulk, and pretty intimidating to be next to. However, she believed she was starting to get what he was saying. She pointed at herself with an inquisitive expression.

"Tournament?" She repeated. "You mean…am I here for the tournament?"

Typically, the hulk didn't appear to understand what that meant.

May frowned at this, and looked around herself, trying to find a way to express what she was trying to say. In the end, she held up both of her hands. With a bit of an embarrassed look, she pointed to herself, to her other fist, and then made both of her fists into "little fighters". With the fist that represented her, she used her thumb as a mini-fist and punched the other fist down, making it lose. After doing that, she made it spring up, pull back, and then come forward to indicate a "new fighter". She beat this one up as well, and then, with the same inquisitive look, she held her fists in the air and did a vague pantomime of a victory hop and yell. After that, she pointed back to herself.

"Are you trying to ask me if I'm here to fight in the tournament?" She announced to end the pathetic puppet show.

The hulk looked a bit confused at all of this, but then he reluctantly nodded a bit, as if that was what he wanted to see. He might have just been humoring her for all she knew, but she took that as a good sign.

Immediately, she nodded vigorously. "Yes! Yes! I'm here for the tournament!" With that, she raised her large anchor and slung it over one shoulder, striking a bit of a pose. She flexed one of her arms and grit her teeth, trying to look "macho"…although against this titan it looked rather insignificant. "Me! Tournament! Fight big! Win love! Grr!"

What she saw next was rather unexpected in response to this. The big guy stared at her a moment longer…and seemed to actually hesitate. As May watched, his face appeared to actually sink a little. His eyes drooped slightly, and his mouth hung open just a bit. To May, he actually looked surprised…and sad. She continued to show off for a moment, before she saw the hulk suddenly sigh. Then he turned away from her, drew up to his full height, and crossed his arms as he looked down over the side of the building. Abruptly, he looked very remorseful…very sad and depressed… His eyes were growing dark and his expression grim.

Seeing this, May couldn't help but grow concerned. Her own face looking anxious, she lowered the anchor back to the ground and set it there. She took a step toward the huge man, and twisted her head so as to look up at his face. "Hey…" She called out to him. "Are you alright? What's wrong, big guy?"

The man stood still a bit longer, continuing to stare out in his dark and somber manner. But then, he turned and looked back to May. For the briefest moment, his look turned the saddest of all as it stared at her…

But then, it suddenly turned cold. His arms uncrossed, and fell back to his sides. One of his large hands made a fist and drew up to his hip. He turned his whole body in her direction…and his muscle was accented. May saw this, and suddenly felt a bit uncomfortable…

"Um…big guy…"

The man cut her off with some words in Zepp. Then, not stopping this time, he began to walk toward her once more. This time…his look was fierce and with purpose.

May saw this…and instantly felt far more uneasy. She took a step back, and looked innocently up to his face. "Um…Mr. Giant…? What are you doing?"

The man didn't answer. He kept walking.

"Er…fee, fi, fo, fum?" May asked innocently with a smile…getting no result. She took another step back. "Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry if I did…" Still no stopping. May took another step back, but could move no further. Now, she was next to the opening down the stairs. The man was nearly on her now. She could feel his shadow begin to cover over her, and she felt her body begin to tremble. Each one of his steps was shaking the ground around May, and it made her more uncomfortable. "Buddy…I'm really sorry if I offended you… I'm really just an innocent little girl. Sure, I stole a couple of times, but…EEK!"

May cut off her voice with a cry. That was because, while she was still talking, the man got in range of her. Without another word in any language…he swung his fist overhead and down on top of her.

The girl cried out and immediately dove for it, accidentally releasing her anchor to get more speed. It was a good thing too…for the man was speedy despite being so big, and as his huge fist came down where she had been a moment earlier…it smashed into the concrete roof and produced a two foot impact crater from his terrific force. Without looking even chaffed, he immediately raised his fist up again and advanced once more. May herself had managed to escape by turning and diving backward, over the opening into the stairs, and to safety on the roof beyond.

Yet as she turned back, she cried out again. She wasn't safe long. The hulk was advancing on her, and now was bringing his other arm around. A moment later, and he swung it out in a powerful arc, attempting to smash it into the young pirate. His reach easily extended over the opening to the stairs. As for May, she thought of countering…only to realize that she had left her anchor behind in her haste to get away. Paling, she was forced to rush forward and duck under the huge fist as it tore by, the mere slipstream of it nearly taking off her hat. Even as she did rush past, the hulk saw her. He immediately brought the arm back and swung it out at her in a backhand motion. One backhand probably would have been enough to take her off the roof…and so she couldn't let it touch her. As she dove back over the stairway entrance again, she tucked and rolled on landing, just missing the massive fist as it went by. As she came out of her roll, she found herself next to her weapon. Not wasting a moment, she grabbed it and bolted…just in time to miss the other fist of the hulk as he finished turning and brought his fist down again, once more fracturing the concrete where May had been.

Hearing the ground shudder behind her was enough to send another cold shiver down May's spine. She hadn't fought one on one in a very long time. She was used to the others being there for moral support… And besides…most of her opponents were garden variety soldiers…not dudes from Zepp on Miracle-Grow Steroids. She snapped back around after dodging this blow, reminding herself that she wasn't supposed to give her back to an enemy, and nearly gasped at the sight. The hulk was already storming for her, and he was fast despite his size…

Panicking, May could only do one thing.

"Stay back!"

Immediately, she tipped herself back, extended her anchor out, and swung it around herself in a powerful arc. She had to use all of her weight to do it, but she ended up lobbing the huge metal weapon around her in a circle. As the hulk approached her, he was forced to suddenly cut himself off and lean back to avoid having the edge catch him. He was also off guard by this, it seemed. Apparently, he wasn't expecting the little girl to toss around the anchor that easily.

May used this pause to her advantage. As she came out of the swing, she gave a yell and lunged for the hulk, bringing her anchor behind her and then swinging it down in front of her. The huge weapon left a rather large cutting sound in the air as it swung through it, and the hulk's eyes widened. He dodged to the side just in time, but still gaped in surprise as the anchor came down and embedded in the roof, its huge spike knocking out chunks of concrete as it embedded in it. Unfortunately, May soon realized…she was now stuck. The anchor was caught in the roof for a moment, and she couldn't rip it out quickly. The hulk seemed to realize this at the same time she did. Beginning to sweat, she gulped and quickly began to yank back on the anchor…

A second later, and she yelped again as she ducked. The hulk's huge fist tore over her head, once again nearly knocking her hat off, yet missing the head it had intended to knock off entirely. Soon after, the man advanced and brought his other fist up and down again, much as he had before. He saw May stuck there, and she couldn't defend herself. Sweating further, May quickly tightened her grip and gave a yell as she tugged with all of her might. This time, the anchor broke loose and went out of the way, once again avoiding a crushing hit from the hulk.

No sooner had May pulled it out then, however, then she pressed her advantage. Giving another yell, she once again swung her anchor out at the man's head. This time, he was leaned over a bit from his previous blow, and he couldn't lean back as easily. He looked up to the hit in surprise a moment…before he grit his teeth and quickly shoved his body down, laying it flat on all fours against the roof. May's anchor went sailing harmlessly over his head as she did a spiral with it. She gaped a bit at how fast the hulk reacted, and continued to stare at him as she spiraled around through the move.

A second later, and she let out a cry of surprise yet again. Now on all fours, the hulk didn't spring up and try and hit her with two fists again. Instead, he shoved both of his arms down and against the roof…and a moment later pushed off and sent his entire monstrous body, with arms and hands outstretched, lunging for May. The pirate screamed. In a panic move, she quickly continued to turn with her anchor, and let the weight of it pull her a bit. Just barely, she managed to swing around and let the power of the anchor's weight drag her out of the way of the hulk, just as he landed where she had been a moment ago.

This surprised the hulk again, it seemed…and May realized she now had a chance. Still spinning, but getting dizzy at this point, she held her ground again, pulling her muscles a bit in the process, but held herself steady as she spun around one more time. This time, the hulk was too surprised at the move, once again put off by May's size, and was barely able to raise his head up before the heavy end of May's anchor came around and smashed into it.

It felt like steel smashing steel, and a painful jolt went through May's body. She gave out another cry as she forced herself to stop spinning…and, staggering a bit on her feet from dizziness, she let her anchor falter and hit the ground. She leaned on it and panted. In the meantime, the hulk was ripped back and off of his feet, and sent flying back about eight yards before he smashed back down against the ground of the roof. His impact shook the entire upper part of the building, and his mass fractured the concrete around him as he sprawled out. May looked up and watched this, a bit shocked at her own strength. She had some good idea of how big this guy was. It had to have taken quite a bit of force from her to knock him away like that. She didn't think she had ever hit a guy that strongly before…

Yet even as she was beginning to feel proud of herself for felling the giant…she saw something that made her blanch again. Only a moment after landing, the hulk rolled forward and back onto his feet. A second later, and he was standing. Her face was a bit darker now and his teeth were showing…but he only had the vaguest line of a scratch on his chin from what should have only been a mess of broken, bloody bone. And now…he looked a bit angry.

May felt her insides begin to quiver, but she quickly yanked her anchor back up and over her shoulder. She was still a bit dizzy and wobbly, but she waited for him to come again…

However, he didn't charge her again immediately. Instead, he glared out at her a moment. He betrayed no emotion, so she couldn't tell if he was just standing his ground or considering the situation… Yet she got her answer a moment later.

Abruptly, the man raised both of his fists in front of him, seeming to put them in a bracing position. A moment later…and May looked surprised again as bursts of smoke came out of them, and several large piston-like structures burst out from the sides of his wrists. He didn't hesitate there, but to May's surprise turned both of his fists over and smashed them into the ground with all of his might. The moment he connected…the pistons slammed forward and delivered, along with his own powerful, a tremendous blow into the concrete.

A sound like thunder immediately erupted, and the ground shook so violently that May was nearly swept off of her feet. As she cried out again, she gaped to see the entire roof suddenly fracture and then crumble. First it started around the area of the punch. The cement crumbled into chunks despite the steel supports, and the man vanished into a hole that popped up beneath him. But the rest of the roof quickly became unstable, and the ripple spread out from him, making the rest of the roof sink in as well. It happened so fast that May barely had time to realize what was happening before the ground beneath her gave way. Her body began to fall, her stomach rose into her lungs, and she gave out a cry as the world around her turned into a stone deluge as she fell through the ceiling into the building below.

A moment later, and May landed hard. There were no cushions, and so sharp and stiff rock edges were driven into her legs and rear as she landed on her toush. A sharp pain was sent up her tailbone as she landed, but she didn't take time to whine about it. Immediately, she had to raise her anchor and cross it over her head for protection. Huge pieces of stone debris were still raining down around her, shattering on the floor surrounding her body and sending up clouds of chalky white dust. A few large pieces bounced off of her anchor on landing, and one of them hit one of her fingers. Immediately, a painful, numbing jolt went through them, and she did give out a cry of pain. Her face winced as she continued to hold the anchor over her head, fearing that her finger was smashed, as the last of the ceiling came to a rest. The roar died down eventually, and was replaced by the sounds of light rubble periodically falling to the ground.

Only then did May risk lowering her anchor. Her eyes had tears in them from getting her finger smashed, but she clenched her teeth and forced herself to look around. The ceiling was a cavernous mess now. Only bits of cement around the girders still stood. The next floor down on the building was covered with debris. Yet this only took a second to realize, and it was good too. For as she turned forward…she forgot about her pain and gasped again. The hulk was up, no worse for wear, and barreling right toward her with both fists locked and over behind his head.

May nearly yelped as she quickly rolled herself forward onto her feet, ignoring her pain. She ran to the side a moment later, just in time to avoid being obliterated, like the cement block she was standing on, by the hulk's twin fists as he smashed them down. She was again aghast at his attack, but she couldn't afford to panic now. She had to strike back while she still could, despite the fact that this guy had taken her first blow like it was nothing… Immediately, she swung out with her anchor for his side.

To her surprise, he snapped back up and around, and crossed his arm in front of him to block it. Anyone else in the world that May knew would have had their arm ripped off. His huge limb, however, actually stopped it. Yet luckily for May, the hulk still didn't have a good concept of her speed. The blow was blocked, but her own power was still enough to yank the anchor back, adjust its angle, and then swing forward again and smash it into the man's own side. The huge hook, which had broken through concrete before, wasn't enough to break his skin…but a point with that much power was enough to drive a person into agony even without drawing blood. The hulk actually arched his head up and back in pain from the hit.

Seeing this, May didn't waste a moment. She quickly brought her anchor back to hit him again. Normally she wasn't this savage, but this guy was out for blood…and she had no choice but to try and save herself. If he had stood up to her first hit like that, then she couldn't afford to take it easy. A moment later, and she shoved the fat of her anchor forward, catching the man under the chin again. Big as he was…if he could be thrown off balance, he had a hard time recovering. The smash under his chin sent his already snapped neck up faster, and he actually staggered back a moment. He was still on his feet thought. Seeing this, May quickly yanked her anchor back and prepared to swing it against his head again…

Yet she didn't get a chance. She forgot that this guy wasn't just muscular…but had a very long reach. Even while he was still recovering, he was still able to shoot his hand forward toward May. With his long grip and huge reach…he soon surprised the girl entirely by lashing out and wrapping his huge fingers around her entire torso. May looked to this in surprise and yelped, forgetting about hitting him momentarily. That was bad for her…for the hulk fully recovered in that pause, tightened his grip to hold her firmly, and leveled a cold glare at her. Moments later…and May's stomach did a loop as she was yanked upward and then smashed down hard against the stony ground, her head and back bashed against cement blocks as she fell. Immediately, pain flooded her senses as her vision went starry. The world spun. Her grip loosened, and her anchor fell out of it. Unable to even get a grip on reality, much less defend herself, she was limp as the hulk snapped around and flung her across the room, smashing her into a steel girder and sending her body falling to the ground.

May wasn't sure how long she was out of it, but it couldn't have been that long. Her senses returned with a vengeance, now making her head throb, her body ache, and generally feel like used engine grease. Yet the adrenaline now pumping through her system didn't make her rest long. She soon remembered what was going on, and what had just happened to her. She was in the middle of fighting the Jolly Brown Giant…and she felt like she had been stepped on by him, the Jolly Green Giant, and the rest of the colors of the rainbow…

The girl moaned and managed to flip herself onto her belly from her sprawled out position on the ground. She pushed up a bit, and lifted her head slightly. It pounded and her vision was swirling…but she could still see the hulk across the room. He had flung her clear across it. As she stiffened, her back began to ache, and she winced in pain. She might have been strong, but her constitution wasn't nearly as powerful as this guy's. She couldn't take the same blows she was dishing out. That one move had almost been too much for her. Her only consolation was that the guy in front of her seemed to be a bit surprised that she was still alive. Yet that was bad…because now he began to take off in another charge for her body.

May panicked. Coming fully to her senses, her hand reached out and grasped for her weapon…only to realize in horror that she had dropped it when she had been hit. She was unarmed…and Goliath was rushing in for the killing blow. Her own body was mere debris to his tornado. She couldn't hope to hurt him with her fists. Somehow, she got enough energy to get back to her feet as he came…but against him she only looked like an anthill to be bulldozed. What was she going to do?

Not knowing what else was possible, she looked around at her feet for a weapon. She had to stun him long enough to get by him and get back to her anchor. She looked…but all that she found were large concrete blocks. That would have to do. Immediately, she bent down and seized the largest one. It weighed a good hundred pounds, but the girl's superhuman strength enabled her to easily lift it with two hands. As soon as she had it up, she looked to the charging hulk and threw it at him with all of her might.

May nearly felt herself loose control of her bladder as the hulk responded by swinging a fist forward and obliterating the cement into a cloud of dust. She could imagine her own bones and body doing the same thing against his power… The dust that resulted obscured her vision, but she could still feel the ground rumbling as he charged. Having nothing else to do, she quickly leapt to the side out of his path, and hoped that she could clear him…

As she did…a tremendous clanging sound went out, followed by a universal word.

"AAH!"

May, still dashing out of the way, was frozen by this call, and risked a look back. To her surprise, the hulk had stopped. The dust was still dying down behind her, but she could see him standing in front of the girder she had been thrown against. Only now, the girder had a large, waved indentation in it, and the hulk was holding his hand in what looked like numbing pain.

The girl began to realize what had happened. Destroying the block had created a cloud of dust to obscure his vision. As he had charged forward, he hadn't seen that she had moved, and swung out his fist to try and hit her. Instead, he hit the girder. And though it looked like he had done more damage to the steel, without the pistons in his gloves he didn't have the added power to break it. Instead, he had smashed his own knuckles. He probably hadn't done any lasting damage…but the pain was enough to make him pause…and give May a chance at life.

Realizing this was her opportunity, the girl turned and bolted back for where she had been. It wasn't easy. The floor was littered with debris, and all of the hardest stuff to avoid seemed to be planted right in front of her. That was always her luck, it appeared… Yet she hadn't time to whine. The big guy could recover at any moment. And so, she just leapt and traveled as quickly as she could across the floor and back toward the place where her anchor was.

It took a few moments, but soon she began to see her discarded weapon poking up from the debris. Quickly, she spurred herself further on and dashed even faster. Even as she did, she felt the ground behind her begin to rumble. The hulk had to have recovered, seen her, and was now beginning to move toward her again. She charged forward the last few feet, banging her legs against a bit of stone, before she finally reached her fallen anchor. Quickly, she reached out, seized it with one hand, and turned around to meet her opponent.

The hulk had already crossed half the room and was still barreling for her at full speed. She paled again at the sight, and thought of a way to counter this. Unfortunately, strategy and skill wasn't her forte yet. She was rather young, after all. In the end, she could think of only one thing. Trying to ignore the fact that this had to be suicide, she made herself look as mean as possible, gave out her own war cry, and dashed right for the hulk herself.

For a few moments, the two tore across the ground, dodging debris and heading to collide again with one another. As they did, the hulk drew back his fists to punch forward again, and May slung her anchor over her shoulder as she barreled for him. The next two seconds went by with the two of them moving to collide…as they drew nearer and nearer into the other's range…

However, the hulk seemed to have a better grasp of his abilities, and realized that even with her anchor, May's reach was inferior to his. And so, when the two finally met, he was the one who shot out with one of his fists for May's smaller body.

But unlike before, May didn't dodge this one. Instead, she used the fist. Putting her strength and agility to work again, the girl suddenly leapt up and touched down on the man's own fist. The hulk's eyes widened, but that was only the first step. A second later, and May leapt off of his fist again. As the two still were sailing to each other at full momentum, the girl swung her anchor forward and threw her body into a forward somersault. Thanks to his own mass and velocity, the hulk was unable to stop or protect himself as May's anchor was brought down on his head _twice_ as her own lithe body sailed over his.

As May finished crossing him and touched down on the opposite side, the hulk sprawled forward and smashed into the ground hard. The floor shook once again and fractured as his huge bulk collided against it, threatening to fracture the concrete on this floor as well and drop them down to the ninth. May herself wobbled and nearly fell off of her feet on landing, and flailed out her arms and anchor as she tried to keep her balance. Luckily, the quaking only lasted for a few moments. Soon the ground began to steady again, and things went quiet once more save for a few light rocks dribbling from the broken ceiling again.

May was panting once more, now feeling quite a bit of sweat on her brow and rather tired. She took a moment to breathe in the silence and get her bearings. By now…she was rather angry at the rest of the crew. This was definitely the _worst_ plan they could have come up with. She hadn't joined this tournament to try and tackle huge guys with heads that looked unnaturally small by comparison to their oversized torsos. She was expecting _real_ people. If this was a sampling of what was on the island, then what was she going to do against another one? She had barely managed to fell this guy…

As May was about to complain mentally about the others once again, she suddenly felt her train of thought cut off. Her body suddenly went rigid again, and her face blanked and paled yet again.

_No way…_

Rubble was shifting behind her.

Slowly, fearing to look, May turned her head over her shoulder. Even as she did…the huge pile of rocks for a man began to raise up from the broken cement and tower over her tiny body once again. He was dusty and a bit scuffed…but other than that nothing. He was still as huge and formidable looking as he had been when they had started the fight. As her lip trembled and she began to fully turn her body toward him, every fiber of her being telling her to stop gawking and haul ass out of there…his own head slowly turned toward her. His face no longer looked stern…but now a bit angry.

Where her anchor had struck…there were two light scratches…a small bruise…and a single solitary drop of blood.

May couldn't help it. Her teeth began to chatter. With the sheepish of grins, she smiled innocently.

"…Um…sorry?"

The hulk answered by turning fully around toward her…his jaw tightening.

May winced, but realized she had to fight. Futile as it was, she quickly tightened up and desperately swung her anchor at him again.

_Smack._

The light sound of flesh being impacted occurred as a result…as the hulk simply reached up a hand and _caught_ the massive anchor at the crossbar. Icy sweat poured down May's brow as her body went rigid, gaping up at the giant and how easily he had stopped that last blow. A moment later…and it felt as if her arms were nearly dislocated as the hulk easily ripped the anchor out of her hands, held it with one hand a moment, and then lightly tossed it behind him, sending it fifty feet away and well on the other side of his huge body before it landed. When it hit the ground, its sound seemed unusually distinct and clear, like a drop of water in a well.

May swallowed again. Her hands innocently went up in front of her in a gesture of surrender.

"Er…do you understand the world 'hemophiliac'? Hee-moe-feel…"

That was all May got out before she saw a fist the size of a cannonball shoot forward and smash into her body…turning the world dark.

* * *

May was still unconscious a half hour later. It was amazing that she wasn't dead or had any more broken bones than what she already possessed. The final strike from Potemkin had smashed into torso, breaking about four ribs, nearly ruptured her stomach, and caused a dislocation in one of her shoulders from the sheer power as she was taken off of her feet and flung forward. If she had landed against the wall of the building that was their battleground, she might have been killed. 

As it was, luck was on her side as her body was thrown out through an open window. The power of the blow was just enough to send her limp, lifeless form down in a gradual arc, so that her downward velocity was still rather light when she began to crash into trees. The same vines and thick canopy that she had complained about earlier saved her life, cushioning her fall and breaking it through most of the rest of her descent. Of course, it was still rather hard. She banged up her body even more breaking branches, and she was twisted and snapped various painful ways before her body unceremoniously crashed into a pile of dirt on the forest floor. If she would have been conscious, she likely would have been further agonized. As it was, she lay there, bleeding slightly, unable to move or become aware of where she was.

Potemkin himself had left by then. He didn't bother to look for her. He honestly didn't think she had survived his fist, much less the fall to the ground. He was off to look for another warrior, and trying to push out of his mind the fact that he had been forced to kill a little girl. He didn't like it…but she had made it clear that she was competing. That made her a target. That meant she had to be taken down. He had paid her no mind as he went off in search of a new opponent in the tournament. That left May to simply lie down and bleed for that time as consciousness continued to evade her.

And because the man-mountain was nowhere in the area, and because May was still quite unconscious, none but a few birds or squirrels was able to see anything that happened when the forest itself seemed to part of its own accord, and allowed a man clothed in dark robes with flesh as white as snow through. As for himself, he paid no mind to the forest either. He simply walked forward, picked the unconscious girl off the ground in both arms, and then vanished once again into the surrounding forests. The only sign that anyone had ever been there were a few pools of blood from May's wounds.

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: The Doctor is In...


	14. The Doctor is In

**"The Doctor is In..."**

* * *

_I'm pretty sure I'll be the one to find this man. _Ky thought to himself as he continued to set up his equipment. _It's fairly unlikely that any of the peons I've been battling have had equipment like this…_

Actually, none of the rabble that Ky had beaten up so far looked to be the right "caliber" material for the tournament that had been advertised. They were probably just coming for the prizes, thinking that all they had to do was beat up a few other hoods and they'd be the winners. Nevertheless, they had no place here. As far as Ky was concerned, once he was on this island it was an official IPF investigation. They had a chance to comply, and after that he was forced to take action.

Ky had arrived early that morning, before the sun had risen. Based on intelligence, there was a limited zone toward the center of the island that was both defendable and likely to produce the level of power necessary without being spotted. It was quite a bit of ground to cover, but it eliminated much of the search. He drove to the nearest location that seemed feasible, and then began to disembark.

It wasn't long before he started to spot "others". The world-wide advertisement hadn't been without effect. A lot of rough types, many of them drunk and violent, were roaming around on the island, looking to compete in the "tournament". Having not found any other fighters, most of them had taken to beating up each other by the time Ky had reached them. On seeing them, he immediately ordered them back to their boats and to leave the island immediately. Naturally, they gave him some trouble about that. They assumed he was some puny fighter they could easily polish off. Those that didn't heard him mention he was an IPF officer and wanted a chance at beating one up. Ky had no choice but to administer justice. He didn't kill any of them, but he made sure that they were too cowardly after he was done with them to go anywhere else but to the nearest IPF station and turn themselves over.

None of them were major, however. There were several major criminals reportedly engaging in this event, but Ky had seen none so far. He had long since memorized the list of the most wanted both in face and crimes. These were just common low-lives. And from how sloppy their technique was, it was more than likely that they knew nothing of Zato-1, international assassin, being present on England or where he would be on it. Although Ky nearly did so anyway…he repressed the urge to ask them if any of them knew if Sol Badguy had made his way to the island. Ky couldn't help but shake the feeling that he would be coming… He really only had one basis for this. If Sol won, he could wish for the Thunderseal…

Ky pushed this out of his head, however. His superiors were right about one thing. Sol was quickly becoming an obsession with him. There was another job to do here, and the consequences could mean a lot more than the loss of an uninhabited island if he failed. He had to find the person responsible for the attacks and bring him to justice, dead or alive. Since he hadn't actually hurt anyone yet, and obviously had some potential for good…he'd be lenient with him. Even if he didn't surrender, he'd try to take him in alive. Yet if he resisted and Ky slipped up, he only had himself to blame…

Afternoon was coming on when Ky reached the outskirts of his target zone. Since then, he had set up a small base camp. Nothing too fancy. Just the basic amenities. A tent, a place for cooking and purifying water, and a sleeping bag. He didn't truly plan on needing any of them. Back in the Sacred Order, he could go for days without food or sleep. Nevertheless, he took some food. He needed to keep his strength up for whoever or whatever might arise. He might have been going well so far, but that didn't mean things couldn't turn bad.

After setting up his radio, Ky began to take out a different device that was odd by anyone's standards. It looked like some sort of branch-like antenna arrays coming out of a disk-like device. There were also a set of wires with two special electrodes on the device. He took these up and fastened them to the sides of his head. Once that was done, he switched it on and began to scan his immediate surroundings by manipulating the antennas with tiny controls.

Ky was blessed indeed to have control over the power of lightning magic. It did more than make him devastating toward all other magical elements. It also allowed him to have heightened senses in regards to all things electrical. He could detect muscle and neural impulses of foes when he battled them. He could sense if monitoring devices or bombs were placed in abandoned rooms. Alone, his power worked in a limited way over a short distance. However, by using this special transponder that the IPF had provided for him, he could extend his influence over a square mile area, and fine tune it to only small impulses.

The officer looked around for a short while, brushing his antenna over his surroundings and looking for something. He detected extremely minute impulses that were likely from animals triggering muscles or thoughts. Nothing in the area registered as human, which had continuous firing of impulses within the cerebral regions. However, the lower part of his area was still forest. The upper area might give off more…

_…There._

As Ky turned his transponder to the north, closer to one of the ruined cities, he caught it. A faint impulse…but definitely electrical in an artificial nature. Some sort of electronic device was operating. However, it couldn't be that big. He was only picking up the slightest emissions from it. What he had planned on…or hoped on…was seeing a very large signature from what had to be a transmission tower or weapons center. This one couldn't possibly be it. It was too small.

Ky looked down at the device. In a digital readout, coordinates were being displayed. These coordinates made him frown. They were near the edge of the reception range for the transponder. That could mean that they were only weak because he was only picking up the tail end of them. It still could be something much larger. He inhaled and exhaled, and looked over the readout for a moment. He thought over his options for a few brief seconds…

Finally, he reached a decision. He immediately held up one of his covered wrists. He brushed it back, revealing some sort of strange, multicolored device that seemed to focus one giant lens with several smaller within it. He brushed his fingers past it, not really touching it, and immediately the device lit up. A small holographic image was displayed, glowing brightly and showing contour and shape. Anyone who looked at it would have automatically recognized it as a topographical map.

Ky proceeded to move his fingers along it in strange ways, summoning his own arcane power. The image shifted and turned in response, eventually panning out and putting a hovering set of blank digits over the landscape, looking for numbers. He entered the ones from the transponder. This was yet another excellent device of the IPF. Magical in nature, it was a universal GPS. It required no archaic satellites or complicated commands. Only a rapport between the user and the machine, and an area without magical interference, was needed to get it to move and show you where you needed to go. After locking in the coordinates, he swished his hands to pan it closer to the area he was at, and made it display a map to the intended spot.

After that, Ky turned to his radio. He switched it on, turned it to the appropriate channel, and then pressed the call button.

"White knight to white king, over."

_"This is white king, over."_

"I'm anticipating a move. A little one, but possibly pertinent. Over."

* * *

For the briefest moment on arriving at the location, Ky thought that the transponder was malfunctioning, or at least had given him the wrong coordinates. The signal that he followed had taken him out of the forest and into the ruins, but this one had been pretty well laid waste. There weren't even the outlines of foundations for houses or buildings in this district, and though the trees hadn't moved in, the ground was so fractured to allow grass in that it was practically a field already. The trees hemmed it in on all sides, and if you didn't look closely to realize that the rocky ground was actually an outline of pavement, you might not realize you were looking at rows and just suspect an oddly-shaped grassland meadow in between the forest trees. 

Ky's cool gaze scanned the surroundings…seeing nothing. He couldn't even make out most of the outlines of buildings. This was the exact spot of the transmission, but there were no electronics here. If they were near him, he would have sensed them. He felt nothing. And there was no place for them to be stashed either. Some of the grass was a bit matted leading up to this area, indicating that someone had moved through at some point. But other than that, there wasn't a thing. The tracks vanished part of the way into the grassland, and it looked like whoever had come here had gone back into the forest and then left again. It seemed to have been a wild goose chase.

The officer sighed. A waste of time. It had taken a good hour to hike through the woods silently to get here, only to find nothing. It would take another hour to get back. He wished he had the foresight to bring his transponder. Perhaps the device was working, but the targets had left. If so, then he should have brought it to scan their next whereabouts. As it was, by the time he got back the trail would be cold. He was moments from turning to begin his long journey back…when he spotted it.

It barely stood out from the landscape, but the otherwise unchanging meadow in front of Ky had one large difference in it. A slight bulge was just ahead on the ground, shifting slightly from out of the surface. At first, it didn't look like much of anything. Yet as Ky paused and examined it a bit more closely…he began to make out a broader detail and regular shape. A moment later, and he turned fully to it as he recognized it.

Sewage waste in modern times was either placed in a hole dug in the ground, or incinerated in special magical plants which would harvest the released gas as a fuel source or recycle it safely back into the atmosphere. Yet Ky was intelligent enough to know that in older days, special systems called "sewers" were implemented. They were still in many of the older countries in the world. Ky had used them a few times himself to get around Gears, including his attack on Justice at the end of the war. He recognized them when he saw them. Each one was capped with one of these iron lids. This one was ajar, however, and from its age appeared that it wasn't historically so. He had forgotten entirely…the electronic device could be _under_ the ground. And since earth negated lightning, he wouldn't detect it from here…

Immediately, the officer moved over to the lid, reached down, and pried it out the rest of the way. It was heavy, but not for someone of his strength. As soon as he moved it aside, he received a welcome sight. There was a short tunnel leading downward, possessing a rung ladder that allowed this movement, before a stone corridor opened beneath the ground. Ky saw this clearly…because it was illuminated with pale, orange light. Lights that were built into fixtures on the wall.

The power had gone dead in England over a hundred years ago. Whoever had put it back up had done so recently.

_This might not have been such a bad move after all._

Immediately, Ky turned over the hole in the ground, lowered himself on the rungs, and began to descend into the ancient sewer. As he did, he reached out for the manhole and pulled it back. Yet unlike whoever had been down the sewer last, he pulled it completely over the hole. He could get it off again if he needed. But this would ensure that no one else would stumble across what he had found. Once covered, the manhole was practically indistinct from the rest of the landscape.

Ky lowered himself for a few feet. At first, he was in cramped darkness, and the thought of being underground in a tight spot didn't make him comfortable. Yet it soon opened up far wider, and the orange light illuminated him. He touched down on the ground, and immediately swiveled around.

In older days, this was probably a foul place to be. Yet any bacteria or disease that had once thrived in this sewer had long since dried up. Only a few streaks of water from the last rainstorm remained. It was a fairly open area. Ky actually had a good ceiling overhead, stretching up about twelve feet. The sides stretched out as well, widening long enough to move around quite a bit. If the people who had lived here centuries ago had possessed the clean sewers they had now…or perhaps even without them…a whole neighborhood could have easily fit in this area alone. Pity…

Behind Ky, there was nothing but a cement wall with a drain that allowed water to descend to a lower level. The drain area was dark. Ahead of him, on the other hand, the lights continued to go on, leading deeper into the area that Ky had considered suspect. It made for a fairly easy path to follow…but Ky didn't fault whoever had left these lights on for stupidity. After all, it was nearly impossible to find this place if someone hadn't left the lid ajar. _That_ part Ky faulted him for. He had nearly overstepped it, but on finding it, the hole had stuck out like a sore thumb. After only a moment to get his bearings, Ky started off down the sewer walkway.

Ky had barely gone two tenths of a mile when he was already feeling uncomfortable. The path very slowly twisted and turned ahead, so that it was never possible to see more than a hundred feet in front of you at any given time. His element was lightning…and this was deep underground. The thought didn't mesh well with his abilities. But even then…he didn't like this place.

Soon after starting to walk, Ky realized that his footsteps were echoing rather loudly. They ran up and down the length of the sewer with the smallest click, even though Ky was trying to be quiet. That would certainly alert anyone to his presence. And the orange lights, which had first been a sign of comfort and familiarity, soon began to turn into something else. The color was nasty to the eyes, giving everything a dim, unnatural hue. It was rather ugly to behold, but also seemed distinctly…otherworldly. Colors weren't supposed to be like this. And yet…he was walking in a silent world bathed in that light. Although there hadn't been anything rotting in this place for years, it smelled like death. It hadn't been inhabited by anything for untold decades…and no wind or fresh water moved through it. It was stagnant…cold…

_It's like a tomb…_ Ky thought to himself as he made his way down. And though Ky was a man of faith, there were some unnatural things in the world that didn't sit well with him. Until now, he had been pretty relaxed and businesslike. But being down here in this cold, lifeless world… No one had made it here. They had all died over him. Above ground, in the light and trees and grass and under the birds singing, were their tombs. Down here was underneath their tombs…deeper in the ground…closer to…

Ky shook the thought out of his head. He nearly would have cursed himself for being so childish and stupid…when he saw something emerging around the corner.

There was an old sleeping bag ahead…and it had someone in it.

Immediately, Ky straightened up. His business mind took over, and he forgot about his fears or where he was. At least…he tried to. Some of it still lingered in his mind. It continued to hang over him as he began to walk forward. Perhaps, subconsciously…he suspected what he would find before he even saw it.

"Hey there!" Ky called out in his native French.

No response.

"This is the IPF! Identify yourself!"

Still no answer. The sleeping bag didn't even stir.

Ky was already walking forward, and continued to do so. What he didn't realize, however…was that some of his fear of this place was creeping back into his head. There was someone up ahead. He could tell that for sure. This wasn't debris or rubbish. He knew a sleeping bag and a person in it when he saw it. Plus, although this bag looked old, it was newer than anything else down here. Yet only the silence greeted him. And though he now detected the electricity from the lights…he detected nothing ahead. That meant one of two things…either the person was keeping very still or…

Ky began to slow somewhat as he continued. Not long after, he saw that there were two more bags ahead, near the first one. They were sprawled out throughout the sewer hall, and each had a person in them. None of them were moving either, or having reacted to Ky's earlier calls. Ky sensed no impulse from them. Subconsciously…his hand began to drift toward his sword hilt.

If anything, it seemed to grow even quieter when Ky finally reached the first sleeping bag. He came to a halt and looked down at it. To his surprise…he felt cold. He hadn't felt that way in a long time…not since going up against Justice. He swallowed it back…but still couldn't make himself reached down and seize the person as he normally would, dragging them up and out. Instead, he stared at the bag a moment.

The body was completely covered by the bag. The person was rolled up into a ball inside, and the zipper was up and over his head. Ky found himself staring at it longer than he wanted. He wasn't able to move his hands for a moment. Yet in the end, he clenched his teeth and bit it back. He told himself to stop acting like a child, and then went down, seized the lip of the sleeping bag, and yanked it back with sufficient force to unzip it and expose what was beneath.

Ky had seen half of a man's body turn to goo from an acid-spewing Gear in the war…and the man was still alive through it. He had seen people being burned to a crisp, the flesh half-ripped from their bones, manglings, stabbings, shootings, remains of organs, pieces of bodies, and saw people both alive and dead with all of these maladies…of all ages and sexes. He thought his stomach had turned to cast iron since then.

He thought wrong.

Ky staggered…actually _staggered_…away from the ghastly sight beneath the sleeping bag. He wasn't able to get ahold of himself enough to stand straight again for a moment. Even then, he had to force the color to go back into his face and his fear to leave him. Even after that, he crossed himself and began to say prayers…both for the dead and for himself.

Ky worked very hard after that day to push that disturbing image out of his mind. He wouldn't even think about it long enough to describe it in his report. Later that day, when he dictated his log, he would be businesslike and casual throughout the entire report…until he got to this part. Then he would choke. About this first body, he managed to get out the following:

"The victim…the victim…appeared to have been…tucked in on himself… Unknown whether this was the cause of death…saw no other wounds… Two others dead from different causes."

Ky had some stern stuff in himself that day, because he managed to turn to the other sleeping bags…and quickly ripped them down as well. It wasn't so much from bravery…as a desire to get it over with. The last time he had gasped in horror was the day his parents had died. Only though forcing his jaws shut and ordering his teeth not to unclench was he unable to gape at what he saw under them. He never even tried to report what had happened to these two. To this day, whoever they had been, two more John Does on file at IPF, had their sole entry in their dossiers be: "Cause of Death: 'different causes'."

Ky, on his part, backed up from the bodies. Yet even as he did, his senses were already coming back to him. He had heard rumors. Rumors about what the Post-War Administration Bureau was trying behind the backs of the IPF. He had heard that there was a chance they were going to release a killer to compete in the tournament. The killer was absolutely psychotic. He was a mad surgeon, going about killing people from surgical perspectives…doing unmentionable monstrosities to them…

Even as Ky began to think of this, however…as his fear began to rise…he heard the slightest sound of an unnaturally calm and controlled voice behind him…

"The doctor…is in…"

The sheer fact that Ky was one of the best warriors on Earth, and had honed his skills to be peerless in speed and power, was the reason that Ky didn't become one of the psychopath's victims. Instead, he spun around before the last syllable was finished being uttered, drew the Thunderseal, and braced it in front of him…

What looked like a spear had darted out for Ky's body. It had moved fast too. On seeing Ky turn, it had changed courses and gone for a different spot. But Ky had responded as well, and quickly moved out and intercepted. Now, his blade was locked with that of his enemy's. Ky was sweating a bit from the brief exchange. He had never had to move that fast before…and as he now held his sword in front of him, he realized that he had to put considerable power out to keep the enemy weapon back. Yet as he looked out, and saw that what he was fighting was not a spear…but a giant scalpel…all doubt was removed in his mind.

Ky looked up, and in an effort to "humanize" his opponent and make him look less terrible, he narrowed his gaze as dangerously as he could, and flatly stated the name.

"Dr. Baldhead."

What he was looking at hardly seemed like a man. The remnant of a tattered, dirty prison uniform, almost seeming to resemble an OR scrub, clung to his thin, spidery body. He was tall and lanky, almost seeming like a giant insect himself. Yet the creepiest thing of all was that he wasn't attacking him from the ground. The mad doctor was _hanging from the ceiling_, rather like some giant, deadly spider, stabbing out with one arm with his scalpel. He had it braced around his elbow to hold it straight and give it more power, and his long, crooked mouth grinned as he let drool drip from it. He seemed hungry…

That wasn't all. Ky realized that the doctor was somehow _controlling_ his impulses. Normally, Ky should have felt him sneak up on him from a mile away. But he was moving with such smoothness and precious that he wasn't giving out much in the way of electrical impulses. Not a single wasted move… Only Sol and Justice had ever managed that…

Ky's thoughts were snapped out again as Dr. Baldhead abruptly grit his teeth and hissed like a wild animal. Then, like some grotesque nightmare, he began to crawl forward along the ceiling. As he did, he yanked back and stabbed out with his scalpel again and again, aiming for Ky. The knight had no choice but to back up and deflect.

It wasn't easy. Dr. Baldhead wasn't striking like a madman. Each one of his moves was directed at a vital spot, and moved in accurately without sloppiness or mistakes. What more, each time Ky blocked a blow…he redirected it to move to Ky's fingers. The officer knew how deadly Dr. Baldhead's incisions were supposed to be. If he was intending to cut off Ky's fingers, he would succeed unless Ky tried to stop him. He was forced to twist himself out of the way each time and affect a sloppier block, keeping himself from striking back with full power. The mad doctor was skilled and quick…no doubts there.

Ky eventually realized he couldn't fight this man like this. He had to get him on his terms. And so, he waited until Dr. Balhead thrust again. When that happened, he rushed forward with his own blade out, and their two combined speeds managed to catch the mad doctor off guard and lock swords early. Before his enemy could pull back to stab again, Ky quickly twisted his wrists and wrenched his sword to the side. Dr. Baldhead was fast and accurate…but he wasn't strong. Despite his long fingers and powerful wrists, he wasn't able to keep Ky from shoving his scalpel out of the way and leaving him wide open.

Immediately, Ky pulled his sword back and sliced it at the ceiling. Yet right at that point…whatever gripping power that Dr. Baldhead had against the stonework appeared to break, and his body fell away from it. Ky's strike sliced into stone but hit nothing else. The lanky doctor himself fell to the ground for a few moments, before, like some sort of unworldly cat, seemed to invert himself and land on all fours. Now, he raised himself up, and to Ky's surprise revealed himself to almost be as tall as him when he was like this. Lolling his tongue out at him, he advanced again, once more bringing his scalpel up and stabbing out at Ky. Soon he was back to where he started.

Ky let this go on a moment, before he clenched his teeth and moved again. As Dr. Baldhead stabbed forward, he abruptly twisted out of the way at the last moment, letting the scalpel shoot by harmlessly. In response, he raised one of his feet in a flash, swung it around, and brought an ax kick down that slammed the mad doctor's scalpel end to the ground. He pinned it there for a moment, and then quickly took aim at the doctor again. He held the Thunderseal up and rushed forward, moving to stab the psychopath through the head with his blade.

Like some sort of bobbing cobra head on its coils, Dr. Baldhead shifted his skull to one way, letting the blade sail past harmlessly. He grinned in delight, his eyes blocked out by that unnatural orange light on his spectacles, and then twisted his free arm down, around under Ky's blade, and drove it into the officer's stomach. Distracted by the move, and surprised at the lanky man's power, Ky let out a whoosh of air as the fist connected. A moment later, and the insane man yanked his hand back and slammed it forward again, this time stretching out his spidery palm to slam into Ky's face. His nose was crumpled and began to smart, although it didn't break or ooze blood, and Ky's body flew back as his grip on his sword loosened…

Yet he only went back about a foot before he removed one hand from his sword end, lashed out, and seized Dr. Baldhead by the wrist. Not wasting any time to allow the mad doctor to know what he was about to do, he quickly twisted it as much as he could, hoping to break his wrist in the process, and swung his body around to bring the arm over his shoulder. The wrist didn't break, unfortunately (the man almost seemed to be made of rubber), but he did yank the arm over his body, in effect yanking Baldhead up and slamming him against his back. Once there, he grit his teeth, held on tight, and rushed backward into the nearest stone wall. A moment later, and he smashed the psychopath against it as hard as he could. The impact caused no yell, but it had to be strong. The scalpel loosely clattered to the ground. A moment later, and Ky smashed him against it again.

Before he could do it a third time, however…Dr. Baldhead's long, lanky hand, with cruel sharp nails, reached out and seized him by the throat. It was so large he was able to engulf his neck in one moment. Immediately, he tightened it like a vise. The windpipe was crushed…but Ky didn't care about that. What he did care about was feeling Baldhead cut off the artery to his brain…as was likely his intention. Immediately, he told himself he had seconds to act before he ran out of air and passed out…and then met a worse fate than those Baldhead had already slaughtered.

However, the lunatic was clutching him hard now. He let Ky continue to grasp his one arm all he wanted. His other was locked around Ky's throat. As for his long legs, they had reached up, twisted around, and now seized him around the middle like crushing pincers. They weren't going to let go. Ky thought of smashing him against the wall again…but that wouldn't do it. And it would use too much air. He couldn't think long. He had to inflict pain while he still could… His brain was getting hazy…

Finally, he realized something. He was probably the only one strong enough to do this, especially at this point of being air drained…but he released Baldhead's other hand. He ignored the doctor grabbing him with this one, and instead planted the Thunderseal in the ground temporarily, and twisted his now free arms down to his legs. He quickly managed to shove one of his arms in between Dr. Baldhead's thigh and his own chest, and then brought the other arm on the other side of it. He held only a moment…and then pushed forward as hard and as fast as he could, hoping that Baldhead would break this time…that his body would prove to be inferior in strength again…

It did.

Moments later, and Ky had dislocated Dr. Baldhead's femur.

Now, at long last, the doctor cried out. It was a horrible noise, more like some sort of wild dog rather than a man, and it brayed right in Ky's ear. However, his hands went loose, and so did the grip around his waist. One of the legs was now useless. The pain made the other shift. Luckily, the doctor didn't seem to have a high pain threshold. He probably wasn't used to his victims hurting him back. Now that this was done, Ky reached up with both of his free hands for Dr. Baldhead himself. Moments later, and his arms came around his upper arms. His grip easily encircled them, and so he tightened it into a crushing grasp. Surging forward, and putting out all the strength he could muster, he lunged and bent down, flipping Dr. Baldhead off of his back and smashing him into the concrete floor.

The impact dislodged Baldhead completely, and Ky immediately shot back. He couldn't afford to let him grab him again. His head was pounding now, and he felt his vision swimming. For a moment, he only stared at Baldhead, as he writhed around on the ground like some sort of giant, thrashing insect. Yet as Ky got his bearings again…the doctor suddenly smoothed. Composing himself, but still on his back, he kept one leg rigid and brought his arms around to grasp his dislocated one. He seized it in the same place that Ky had grabbed it…and gave a mighty shove and a grunt. To the officer's amazement, he popped his femur back into place.

Ky was stunned that he was able to concentrate enough through the pain to do this to himself…but he didn't waste anymore time. Knowing that this action must have hurt him even more, Ky reached back and took up the Thunderseal once again. He flashed back to the doctor, brought it up, and then swung it down to end his life…

Flesh tore…and soon the horrible howling peeled out again. However, despite all this, Ky's hit had not been fatal. Despite the pain he had to be in, Dr. Baldhead rolled out of the way just as the sword came down. It cut a slice into his side, and blood flashed against the ground…but other than that nothing. Seeing his failure, Ky quickly yanked his blade up and turned to face the mad doctor again…

Yet he was again too late. Dr. Baldhead had only rolled out of the way so he could get to his discarded scalpel. After taking it up, he quickly shot back up to his feet, seeming to no longer feel his leg. Once there, his odd, lanky body began to do a series of backflips away from Ky, although one could hardly consider them backflips. He seemed to rather fold himself in half again and again to make his way down the corridor. In no time at all, he had put fifty feet between himself and Ky. The moment he did, the officer saw him delve into his pocket and come out with something…

Ky didn't wait to find out what. Brandishing his sword in front of him in the "thrust position", he rushed after Dr. Baldhead. He was fast, but it still took him a few precious seconds to catch him. While he did, he watched the madman work with amazing speed. Before his eyes, the doctor took the object to his injured side and rotated his arm rapidly. It wasn't until Ky drew nearer that he realized that Dr. Baldhead was stitching up his own injury, rapidly and flawlessly…like he was pushing a sewing machine petal. In the time it took Ky to finally reach and strike out, the doctor had broken the thread with his hands, tossed the remainder and the needle aside, and brought his scalpel down to deflect Ky's stabbing blow.

The moment it was deflected, Dr. Baldhead swung his scalpel around, creating a distance between himself and Ky and also bringing the blade dangerously close to Ky's head. The officer was forced to twist back to avoid it. Moments later, and Baldhead brought it up and back, and then swung the bladed end down to split Ky from head to tail. He quickly had to shift to avoid this as well, watching as the blade cut off a few threads of the edge of his clothing as he dodged.

The scalpel quickly came up again and sliced for Ky once more. This time, however, he stood his ground and once again intercepted it. Once he had it, he tried again to fling it aside and leave Baldhead open. The doctor wasn't going to let it this time, however. He held his ground and struggled against him, using both arms and bearing back with his own weapon. Ky held on though…and after a few more moments it once again became obvious which one of the two were the strongest. Ky shoved down on the scalpel with such force that he drove the tip of it into the stone floor, pinning it a moment. He raised up his blade to strike again…

When Dr. Baldhead surprised him again. Instead of struggling to pull the scalpel out, Dr. Baldhead used it as a fulcrum and sprung over it, twisting his body over and through the air, aiming himself feet first, and sailing straight for Ky. Surprised at the suddenness of the move, the officer was unable to adjust before Baldhead's two feet impacted underneath his chin and sent him spilling back. Yet once again, he managed to stay on his feet.

The doctor didn't wait for him to recover and retort, however. Once he had finished kicking Ky with both feet, he twisted his legs down and planted them. Keeping his arms behind him, he now yanked up on his scalpel and ripped it out of the ground. Not seeming to mind the odd position of his arms, he swung them back over his head and brought his weapon in front of him. A second later, and he thrust out in an attempt to impale Ky through the skull. Once again, however, the officer had recovered in time, and was able to swing his head back to avoid the deadly thrust, letting it sail over him and hit only air.

The officer had instinctively crossed the Thunderseal across his chest when he had been kicked, and now it was in a great position. Pushing out with his blade, he raised it up, caught Dr. Baldhead's scalpel, and twisted it away and to the side. Now, he had an opening, and it was one that Baldhead didn't expect. The twisted doctor must have not expected him to react so quickly. He leaned back up in a moment, and spent a fraction of a second looking for a place to strike…

The fact was that the fight was growing tiring to Ky, and he wanted to end it. Dr. Baldhead was more skilled and deadly than most of the enemies he had encountered in the past. He was actually pushing himself pretty hard as it was. He wanted to finish it with one blow…but this man was so rubbery and resistant that he knew he couldn't. He thought of only one thing…going for Baldhead's wound. He knew that hurt…

And yet…Ky couldn't bring himself to do it. That was fighting dirty. It was what one did when they were beaten in every way, and so they exploited a past injury. It might be strategy to some…but it wasn't fair to Ky. And the truth was that he couldn't push himself to end this more quickly. Dr. Baldhead was psychotic and disturbing, but he had lost his sanity, not been this innately. Going all out could kill him. Ky knew he'd be better for the world if he could somehow be cured. Yet then again…how many more people like these three had he mutilated because he wasn't sentenced to death when there was time?

Ky couldn't afford to debate morals now. He had to make a move. And so, in the end, he settled for a far more simple move of snapping back up and using the momentum to smash Dr. Baldhead in the face with his free fist as hard as he could.

"Simple" as the move had been, it had effect. Baldhead's neck snapped back like his head was a balloon on a string. He staggered back, stumbling on his own lanky legs. Where his own blows had only shaken Ky up, blood now oozed from his nostrils and his lips. One of his gleaming lenses had been cracked by the force of the hit. For a moment, he wavered on his legs, looking only semiconscious. His face formed a dazzled look…and it was so glazed and stunned that he almost looked like he was human for a moment. And because of that…Ky didn't finish him. He kept his sword up and waited.

A moment later, however, and Dr. Baldhead righted himself. He straightened his body up, though he left his arms limp at his sides, and as he looked at Ky, his head was limply turned to an angle. He let his bloody mouth hang open and gape at Ky with a crazed grin. This posture was the most disturbing thing yet. It made Ky pause a bit longer.

Then, to the officer's surprise, something most unexpected happened.

Dr. Baldhead spoke to him.

"Are you going to kill me, young man?" He asked with his bloody, crooked mouth. For a moment, his look was smiling and crazed.

Then…much to Ky's surprise…it suddenly turned miserable and anguished.

"Then do it! Make her stop! _I don't want to see her anymore! She wants to kill me but she won't let me die!"_

The voice of Dr. Baldhead rang out loud throughout the entire tunnel…and seemed to reverberate into Ky's innermost being. The youth, so shocked at this, actually leaned back and let his sword lower. His mouth hung open limply in surprise. It wasn't the suddenness and violence with which Dr. Baldhead had suddenly made this crazy statement…but the fact that this was actually the sanest thing he had said since Ky had started the fight. He spoke with violence and emotion…but he only sounded like one both full of rage and full of anguish. He didn't sound like an insane man.

This so stunned Ky that he couldn't strike for a precious few seconds. And because of that, Dr. Baldhead was able to look slumped and defeated for a short moment. His face hung long and his grin turned into a miserable grimace. He looked almost on the brink of tears. Yet then, right before Ky was about to move again, either to offer Baldhead a chance to surrender or strike him down…his face turned crazed again as he straightened and went rigid. Then, with a casual flick of his wrist, he tossed his scalpel over into the wall…right where the ancient, dying power cables were located.

The weapon struck…the old wiring fizzled and hissed…and the entire sewer went dark.

Ky felt a ripple of fear travel through him as everything became pitch black. He raised his sword back up to its previous position…but he saw nothing. Only because he could detect himself moving did he know it was there.

The youth almost swore to himself for not moving first. He couldn't afford to be merciful to this man. He wasn't capable of mercy or reason anymore. Actually, that wasn't quite true. He was capable of reason. He was capable of being clever. And now, he was stuck here, trapped in this chamber in darkness with him. His enemy had counted on this. He had killed the lights when he couldn't win, and now Ky had the feeling the advantage was his. If the man could deaden his own muscular impulses enough to keep him from finding him, then he had him at his mercy…

_That means only one thing…I now have no choice._

_You've sealed your fate, madman._

Ky couldn't afford to go easy on him anymore. In this darkness, he had to vent his full strength. And so, he clutched his blade tighter. He didn't close his eyes, but he narrowed them momentarily. He needed full focus to be able to use this ability. The magic was hard to master, after all. Yet it came quickly. His own innate abilities began to mesh with his months of training and practice, and the two began to summon forth the energy inside him. He felt prickles begin to travel through his skin, and he could hear static electricity building around his body. He didn't have long to charge. Dr. Baldhead could be coming for him right now… Yet it only needed a few moments. First to grasp the power…then to transfer it into the Thunderseal…

As his power flowed into the blade…it was immediately sharpened and focused, and full power transferred to him. It instantly became far easier to control and manipulate. The sword was like a rod focusing all of the energy in his body, and now it did so into his fingers and into the blade…

A second later…and the blade suddenly ignited in blue light. Bolts of sizzling energy began to sweep around it, and the corridor that had previously been swathed in an unnatural, almost sickening orange glow now was vividly colored in electric blue. It was dim, but it was more than enough for Ky to see. The knight was instantly illuminated, his own blue eyes seeming to suddenly gleam with the power he had now summoned to himself. Immediately, he felt stronger and faster than ever. His full magical ability was now focused and controlled. And now…the fight was all his.

Ky didn't bother standing his ground. Instead, he immediately twisted around and looked behind him. Just as expected…there was where Dr. Baldhead was. He was once more on the ceiling. The man hadn't made the mistake of coming straight at him. He had used the darkness to get back on the stone, come around behind him, and try to rush in and stab him in the back. Now, however, he saw what had happened. He saw that his darkness was broken by Ky's new power, and even his maddened brain was forced to halt for a moment as he saw the bolts of energy encircling Ky's blade and how fierce and powerful the officer had become.

Ky, always honor bound at heart, did not strike now. He waited as Baldhead recovered from his surprise. He let him make the first move.

It took a few moments, but at last the man reacted. Keeping his scalpel forward, he began to crawl along the wall back toward Ky…

_That's a first move._

In response, Ky snapped his wrist and swung the Thunderseal in front of him. A large crackling sound went through the air, like a miniature thunderclap, and in response the energy around the sword flew off, condensed into a single, larger bolt, and sailed straight for Dr. Baldhead.

The doctor must have gaped underneath his cracked lenses…before twisting his scalpel to intercept the blow. That was foolishness on his part, Ky realized, but most of his opponents instinctively made the same mistake. To Dr. Baldhead's credit, he pulled his scalpel back away from him at the last moment, but he was powerless to dodge the lightning now. It connected with his body, and sent a large "vvvt" sound through the air as it coiled through his body. Immediately, the man went rigid, stiffening and spasming as his senses were overloaded. Unable to grip to the wall, he instantly fell to the ground. He didn't writhe this time. His muscular processes were arrested by the shock. He landed flat a moment later, and was motionless for a matter of seconds.

Ky waited just long enough for him to get muscular control again and begin to rise, and then he dashed for him. By the time he reached him, Baldhead was back on his spindly legs, and was beginning to raise his scalpel again. Seeing Ky coming, he lunged out with it again, this time in a more desperate move and not a planned hit. Ky reacted by swinging the Thunderseal up and lightly smacking it out of the way. It was easy this time. Not only did his lightning repel the blade, but the charge that it sent coursing through Baldhead's body when the weapons connected both loosened his grip and drove him into more pain. The scalpel nearly flew out of the doctor's hand and embedded point-first into the ceiling, where it stayed. Ky quickly followed up with a cross slash, this time moving fast and powerfully. Baldhead was unprotected…and the slice drew blood as well as filled Dr. Baldhead with another charge. The howling sounded again as he was ripped off of his feet and flung down the sewer corridor again.

Ky didn't let up. It was time to end this.

Even as Baldhead was still finishing landing on his feet and reaching for his bleeding chest with his large, spindly hands, Ky was rushing to him again. This time, he moved so fast and was filled with so much power that he almost seemed to glide above the ground as he reached him. Once more, he adjusted himself into the thrust position as he rushed at him. He timed himself to come in at a precious moment. He waited until Baldhead looked up from his wound and back up to Ky. He waited until he could lock gazes with the man…see his cold look…see the power of judgment that God had granted to him…and then drove his blade forward and into his stomach.

The power of the lightning surged at this, and both a powerful bolt as well as force from the stab struck the madman. The stab went clean through, piercing all the way through his stomach and to the other side, scattering blood beyond. But the electricity ripped him off of the sword just as quickly and sent him flying down the hallway. This time, the force was so strong that he might as well have been fired from a cannon. Still in the final thrust position, Ky kept his blade extended as he saw Dr. Baldhead sail down, bent over in a crumpled position and trailing his long limbs behind him, before he struck the concrete wall in the back. His body, limp now, flailed out along it as he sprawled like a crushed insect.

Ky continued to watch with cold eyes as Dr. Baldhead slowly slid off of the wall and to the ground. He was right above the drain at this point, and there was some water that had made it slippery and slimy. He landed right on this portion, and soon after doing so gravity began to pull at his body again. Limp as a dead fish himself, his form slid down the drain and into the black abyss beyond. Ky watched his bloody hand, fingers coiled like a dead spider, hang over the lip until the last as he slid inside.

Only when that was done did Ky gave a final icy epitaph to the psychopath.

"Justice is served."

* * *

The hooded man arrived about fifteen minutes after Ky had continued down the hall. Though the power was out, he was following the corridor until it came on again. The man didn't care. That was as it should have been, after all. That was what he had planned on from the beginning. 

However, he had felt his first real annoyance this tournament as he reached up with a bone-white hand and yanked Dr. Baldhead's scalpel out from where it was still caught in the ceiling. He let his firm grip hold it a moment as he looked out down the hallway again. It might have been pitch black, but he could still see. He saw the piles of dried blood on the ground, and the faint trail leading all the way up to where his body had slid down the drain, into a sewer abyss that even the hooded man didn't know.

Seeing this…his other hand went on the scalpel, and he was almost so furious that he snapped it in two.

"A waste."

The voice…dark, hollow, and seeming to drain warmth from the air…was the first sound the man had made since he had issued his statement to the world.

Dropping the useless weapon to the ground, he turned and vanished back into the gloom.

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: Shadow Boxing...


	15. Shadow Boxing

"

* * *

Kliff scanned his surroundings anew, now that he was from a higher vantage point. He realized he should have thought of this a while ago. It was a lot easier to look at what was around him from on top of one of the intact buildings. He could see the entire coastal area and much of the city from here, including all of the ruined skyscrapers that were still standing. And yet, in spite of all of this, he had still spotted nothing.

He frowned. _You better not have given me a "safe" job, Frederick…_

Kliff hadn't found anything. He had done as Frederick had said, moving out along the coast, circling the city, and then making his way inward. There were no signs of any large antennas, power cables, or generators. He did find some tracks closer to shore, but for all he knew they were simply other people who had arrived in this location. It didn't really help anything. Most of his way had been hampered by the buildings that still stood. They did a lot to block one's view. However, as the day wore on, he realized that he should simply climb some of the buildings and look out from the top. As a result, when he worked his way deeper into the ruined city and still saw nothing, he did so.

The old man sighed and wiped his brow. He hated the fact that he was sweaty now. There was a time when twenty floors would have been nothing to him. He had been a bit winded by this climb today, however. Another sign that he was getting old. Yet more irritating than that was the fact that after hours of searching he hadn't turned up a thing. It wasn't Frederick's fault. His idea had sounded good, and his way of covering the city had been used before by the Sacred Order. It just had failed to turn up anything. The entire city was clean, and so was the surrounding countryside. But it had taken almost all day to do it. By now, the sun was lowering and would go under the horizon in about an hour. If they had a team they could cover much more of the land in a much shorter period of time. As it was, with just the two of them they could be looking for a needle in a haystack.

Kliff grumbled to himself and looked back to the surrounding buildings. Most cities didn't get this high anymore. Most people were too poor to build them like this. It was still quite impressive to look at, even if it did yield nothing. There was nothing left to do here now. He only had to head back to the rendezvous point and meet up with Frederick. Maybe he had found something. And, Kliff thought with another frown, if he did, hopefully he would come back and report it and not go off on his own.

He was about to turn back and go toward the staircase again to begin his long descent…when he suddenly heard something that made him pause. A second later, it also made him look confused.

It sounded like…music.

It wasn't regular music either. It sounded like it was a rock band of some sort. Not only that, but it sounded familiar…and so did the song they were playing. Kliff turned back and listened a bit more, before it clicked in his memory. That was a song Kliff had heard in the bar just the other night, an old tune from before the war. Of course, that was the same with most music that was currently out. Songwriters and bands were one of the aspects of civilization that hadn't quite recovered yet. Most music was from the previous century, having been preserved in one form or another until it was rerecorded for today's generation. It was also a luxury only the rich could afford for personal use, traditionally.

On hearing this, Kliff realized that it wasn't another band playing. It was someone playing a recording of the music. And because of that…they had to have quite a bit of money. It didn't sound too far from where he was. It was echoing up to him…

Kliff soon heard another sound with it. It was some sort of loud, half-crazed laugh. This one, however, wasn't from the music. It was another person. He sounded drunk, and he also sounded like he was enjoying himself by listening to the recording.

The old warrior looked around a bit more, and finally spotted it. Just up the block, about fifteen floors up another ruin of a skyscraper, he saw some shadows moving around. The music appeared to be coming from that direction. Based on the number of shadows he saw, it appeared to be more than two people were there. There was likely a group of them.

Kliff stared out a bit longer. It looked like he had found something at last. It wasn't what he or Frederick had in mind, but after a day of fruitless searching it was something. Probably some rich kids, or some sort of gang full of rough types, coming out to try and participate in the tournament. Since it was getting late, they had probably decided to get high in one of these ruins and throw a bit of a party before turning in for the day. From this distance, Kliff couldn't tell for sure. He also had no idea who these people were who were playing the music. Were they thugs? Were they regular fighters? Were they rich snots?

In any case, Kliff doubted it was the head of the tournament. He didn't strike him as one who would have worked with others, or if he did it wouldn't be with others dumb enough to play music loud enough for people to hear for miles in the silent city. The fact that they had to have some sort of power source meant nothing. Batteries and portable generators could be found by the right customers. That meant it was likely some other fighter. He knew of eight others besides him and Frederick who looked dangerous, but he had no way of knowing if any of them were playing this music and broadcasting their presence. It wasn't Ky…he didn't do stupid things like this, and he hated rock music, which appeared to be the genre. It might be nothing. He was probably better off ignoring it and looking for his real target…

_…But I'm bored stiff, and I came here to fight._

Kliff had wanted some battles when he got out here. He ran into all types of people going around the world, and he hadn't had a chance to battle them openly for some time. Whoever was here, one thing was certain. They were here to fight. And that's what Kliff was here for too. If he went back, he'd just be sleeping for the rest of the night before having to go around and do the same tedious job tomorrow morning. And where was the fun in any of that? He wanted action. And he wanted to get some before he turned in for the evening.

With that in mind, Kliff only considered what a climb it would be…and reasoned that he still had enough vitality to do it and pick a battle. Reaching that conclusion, he turned fully toward the stairwell and began to walk toward it again.

* * *

About forty minutes later, and Kliff was feeling a bit more tired than he would have expected. He had a bit more sweat on his brow, and he was breathing heavy. As a result, he stopped two floors from where the music was coming from to catch his breath. If there was going to be action there, he wanted to be at peak performance. Also, he wanted to make sure he caught the drop on these people in all of his intimidating glory that he could muster. Kliff Undersn was a person to be feared world-wide, but if these were thugs they'd probably think little of him if he was panting and tired-looking when he reached them.

It hadn't taken long to get down the stairs of the building, seeing as downstairs was always easier than upstairs. He didn't like how his knees had been a bit sore, but that was yet another unfortunate side effect of being old. On the street, it had taken him a moment to find his bearings again, and where the music had come from. Luckily, it was blaring so loud that it only took a few moments. Kliff almost thought that these people had to be _trying_ to get attention. As quiet as this city was, you could probably hear the music for miles. But after finding the place and remembering what floor he had seen them on, the matter of climbing the stairs in that building still remained.

It was fairly intact, just like the one he had been in. Kliff was old enough to remember most building ruins before they had deteriorated that much. He remembered that many of them had tiles for floors, carpeting, and stuff called "drywall" instead of plastering. Most of those things were gone, as were many of the old electrical fixtures and insulation. But you could still see the framework where those things had been set, and most of it was still intact. Some even still had some old, rotted drywall on it. You could see duct work from the old climate control systems, and there were actually still a few metal doors attached around the stairways. The floors, the steelwork, and the pipes were all still there, along with pieces of some old furniture. Kliff could actually make out a few chairs and a table from the rubbish. This part of England had kept well indeed over the past few decades.

The music, naturally, grew louder as Kliff continued to ascend. A bit further, and he began to hear loud yelling and laughing as well. It sounded like it was coming from people who were drunk or high, and with that in mind he crept up slower. The voices grew more distinct as he continued to rise. When he came to a halt on this floor, he could actually make out words. With that in mind, as he paused for a rest, he inclined his head toward the stairwell. He removed Dragonslayer from his back and set it down tip first. As he began to unwrap it, he listened to pick up any clues of what was going on up there.

"Hey, thanks a ton, boss!" One voice yelled. It was one of the more inebriated ones. It, like all of the voices he heard, was in Spanish.

"Yeah!" A similar voice sounded. "I thought this trip was going to suck! It's almost as good as Crete!"

"Why don't we do that?" The first answered. "We can put up some shacks out here with some insect repellent…get some more booze…and some women."

"Oh yeah." The second replied. "That's the only thing I miss about this. I ain't getting any-"

"Would you two shut the hell up and keep an eye out?" A third voice, not sounding nearly so drunk or tipsy, suddenly erupted. It also sounded rather annoyed at the first two. "You didn't get dragged this far inland just to go on a f'ing trip! You're working!"

A fourth voice spoke up here…and this one really gave Kliff pause. It sounded rather calm and controlled, not the least bit high or drunk. Yet it was also far too cool for Kliff's tastes. Far too smooth… It wasn't the kind of voice a normal person had…or a kind person, for that matter.

"Oh, let them be." The fourth answered. "They're doing good enough."

"They're drinking all your liquor and going through about twenty grand worth of your best sh't." The third answered with a grumble.

"That's right. It's _my_ sh't." The fourth responded. "I decide who does what with it."

The third clammed up after this. That final comment seemed to have scared him a bit, and so he didn't dispute it again. As for the first two, they began to go off and start rambling about the place once again. The music continued to blare, so if anyone said anything quieter, Kliff couldn't pick it up.

However, there was little doubt in Kliff's mind now as to the true purpose of the music. He should have thought of it earlier. Based on what he had overheard, they were playing it out loud on _purpose_. They were trying to attract others toward them. Not a bad strategy if you were playing to win the tournament. Rather than wander around the island and try to find other fighters, you could simply advertise your own presence and deal with people as they arrived. It had the advantage of making sure they fought on your "turf", so to speak.

Luckily for him, the fourth seemed to have made a mistake in not taking the third's advice. The two had already been too wasted to see him approach. Now he was going to get the jump on all four of them. He quickly finished unwrapping the rest of his sword before balancing it over one shoulder. It was still quite heavy to carry up and down stairs extended. After that, he began to casually walk up the staircase again.

Casual was probably the way to go. Because he moved so slowly and quietly, it was impossible to hear his footsteps over the music and carousing. Still, he kept his eyes and ears open. Other than more rambling and laughing, and the beginnings of footsteps, he heard nothing new. After ascending one more floor, he stopped briefly once again and looked to the stairway. He saw only a few tips of shadows wave in and out down the stairs. Kliff's eyes narrowed and his muscles tightened. He made his way silently over to the bottom of the steps and looked upward.

The next floor was well illuminated, but he could only make out a pair of head tops. A second later, and they both went forward and out of his view. Kliff took a moment to plan his strategy, and then tightened his blade grip once more. Letting out one blast of air, he took off and ran up the steps, taking them two at a time.

The music was still playing full blast when Kliff began to come up over the edge. As he did so, he caught two bodies in front of him. Both were dressed like punks, tattooed, earringed, and wavering on their own two feet. One had a katana sword on his back. The other held some sort of iron club in one hand and a bottle of liquor in the other. They were looking at each other and laughing. As he continued to climb, he saw a taller, darker man in sunglasses with stubble and a rough look. He was also sporting a large handgun and glaring at the two. As Kliff rose, however, he snapped his head to him in surprise. But before he could raise the gun and point it at him, Kliff caught one more body further behind him…someone dressed in tight black with long, blond hair, his back to the swordsman…

Kliff didn't bother looking at any of the other details right away. Instead, he looked to the man who had spotted him. A second later, and this big man yanked his gun out and lifted it to aim. The two other jokers saw it at this point, and both of them looked confused at his reaction, then turned to see what he was spotting. Kliff was still climbing up the last few steps at this moment, but frowned at what he saw. He was hoping to maybe talk this out, but he wasn't going to get the chance. The third man was already cocking his weapon and preparing to fire.

Kliff might not have been as young or fast as he used to be, but the gunman would still have to be four times as fast before he could approach even a low level Gear in terms of speed. He had no trouble swinging his massive blade down and in front of him. Two shots impacted it a moment later. If he had been anyone else, the shots might have made his blade fly out of his hands. As it was, he had intercepted far worse with his sword before, and his muscles held the blade easily without hardly a waver. He did use the brief second it took the man to pump out the two shots to examine the girders in the area. Kliff was one of the few men alive who knew how to use his blade in a way to counter enemy shots. After all, gunnery was so inexact that it was nearly impossible to pull something like this off, and the mental geometry was nothing short of superhuman to do quickly enough to make a difference. Added to the fact that Kliff realized this man was a good shot (both bullets went for where his forehead was), and he was the only man alive who could do it.

The next shot, Kliff saw, went for his sword grip. And so, in a split second, he lowered Dragonslayer down to the appropriate spot and switched its angle slightly. The shot fired…and promptly ricocheted off of the blade's surface, bounced to a nearby girder, glanced off of that, and then shot straight back for the man's head. A moment later, his glasses flew off as his head snapped back, and he collapsed to the ground.

By now, the other two men had turned around to Kliff. However, both of them had paused momentarily in the time it took to watch Kliff's ricochet move. A second was all he needed. Immediately, he leapt over the remaining steps and sailed straight for the man with the club. As he did, he yanked back on Dragonslayer and put it over his shoulder again. He reached him just as he was beginning to raise his weapon. Kliff answered by swinging out his blade in a circle and slicing him through the neck. The man went down a moment later as Kliff landed.

The other man saw this, but was reacting now. He reached back and yanked out his own sword in a flash. He was pretty quick with that katana. It wasn't a crappy one either. This one had to be one of the genuine folded steel blades. Strong enough to go through concrete in the right situation. And inebriated as the man seemed, he looked strong enough to wield it as well.

Kliff swung his sword in a circle again. The long reach extended to the man, easily sliced his katana in half, went into his neck as well, and then came back. This one too fell a moment later.

With this done, Kliff put both hands onto Dragonslayer and swung the massive blade out toward the last remaining person. He hadn't made a move or gone for a weapon yet, so Kliff didn't immediately strike him down. He wouldn't have cut down those other two with extreme prejudice if he hadn't seen that they were going to do as the man with the gun had. Kliff did have good judgment, no doubts there. A battle required you to often "shoot first and ask questions later", but the fastest way to turn towns that you depended on for food and shelter against you was to kill a civilian. Kliff was able to read men well enough to see if they meant him harm and if he had to strike before they did. Drunk as the two men had been, he realized enough from one glance that they could be lethal if he let them get warmed up.

Now that Kliff finally had a moment, he took in more of his surroundings. This particular floor was rather open. The walls had been blown out, leaving only the framework in their place. The result let a cool breeze and lots of sunlight filter inward. There were piles of old material that looked almost like weather beaten, crumbling sheets of drywall and sawhorses. It occurred to Kliff that this building might not have been finished when it was destroyed. In addition to that, however, there was a much newer fold-out table and chairs. Seeing as most average citizens made their own furniture as often as they bought it, the fact that there was any indicated the wealth. But these weren't regular tables and chairs either. They were actually made of pretty advanced metal with some artsy designs built into them. A rich person's "picnic set", so to speak. A few paper bags were scattered around the tables and chairs, seeming to hold some sort of goods in them, like food, water…and maybe something else. There was a lot of "something else" on the table. Some of it was still smoking. Some of it was still sitting in bulging bags.

Then, there was the final person.

As Kliff finally took a good look at him…he immediately noticed something. He couldn't tell what it was exactly. Something about the man seemed to actually stand out more from its surroundings. Kliff couldn't pick up the exact reason…but it unsettled him. He realized that he was picking up an extremely bad vibe from this man. Part of it was the fact that he didn't even look like he had shifted weight during the exchange. Part of it, however, was something else. It was something that Kliff had never sensed from a human being before…

The man was standing next to the music player, perched on a pile of old, plastic cans. Like him, it was indifferent to the change. The man hadn't shifted at all in the pause that had followed. Kliff looked at him a bit more, and realized that he had some sort of black band tied around his head that extended to the front…likely a visor of some sort. His hands were nearly gloved in black as well. After a second more of hesitation, one of his hands moved over to the music player and pushed a button. It instantly went off.

The silence that resulted seemed to be almost unnatural, and was one of the more unsettling situations he had ever been in.

"Well, stranger…" The remaining man's voice suddenly began. It seemed entirely too smooth and cool for Kliff's tastes, and had a thick Spanish accent. "I'll have to compliment you on ruining my setup here. I thought someone might be able to off those two jackasses who got wasted, but not without pain. They were rather good, despite what you might think. But as for Res…he was a surgeon with a handgun. I don't think anyone ever managed to stay alive for three shots, let alone kill him with his own bullet. And to do all this with an oversized sword like that?"

Kliff raised an eyebrow at these comments. The man's back was turned to him. So how did he know he had a sword? Or that he had beaten the gunman by deflecting his bullet? At any rate, he didn't sound that nervous, and so Kliff reasoned he had to be considerably better than his lackeys. Before he could say anything else, however, the man began to turn toward him.

"You _did_ ruin my bait, however." He went on as he did so. "I was hoping to attract someone else, and you came in instead. I thought that she'd kill those idiots I had with me when she got here, but I reasoned that the three would be enough to kill anyone else so I wouldn't have to get my hands dirty. I was wrong. And though this will mean more work for me…I'm actually a bit happy."

He finished turning here, and flashed a grin to Kliff. His incisors almost seemed to grow when he did it.

"I wanted to have a chance to tear up a real challenge."

The man's front wasn't much different from his back in terms of clothing. But Kliff did see a red and black band tied around his hair, and a visor with pitch black, opaque lenses fixed over his eyes. When they were that dark, it was an immediate giveaway that their wearer was blind. By now, Kliff was starting to realize who this man was. Yet the fact that he was blind, and had this calm, lethal air about him, confirmed it beyond any doubt from the dossier.

"So…" Kliff said out loud. "This is what the Head of the Assassin Syndicate looks like face to face."

This made the man known as Zato-1 smile, and he gave a small bow. "At your service." He responded. "You mind telling me your name, stranger? If I brought Eddie out, I'd see you easily enough, but he'd probably render you unrecognizable as a man in the next few moments. You're old. No doubts there. I can hear your ticker pounding along like an old steam engine. Your breathing is a little weak. Your vocal cords are slack too."

For the first time since this had started, Kliff found himself growing angry. He knew full well that he was getting old. But the way Zato-1 spelled out each facet of his body, claiming he could hear it on him, made him feel a lot older. Or perhaps he wasn't making him feel that way. Perhaps he was just pointing out what was obvious to everyone but him… At any rate, he stated his name with a colder edge.

"Kliff Undersn."

Zato-1's sightless eyes raised a bit behind his sunglasses. "…Is that so?" He responded a moment later. "What do you know. A celebrity on Deathmatch Island. They should do a special on you coming out of retirement to fight. Speaking of which…aren't you a little old to be doing things like this?"

"Why don't you ask your friends?" Kliff retorted a bit sharply.

Zato-1 cracked a side of his mouth. "Touche." He answered. "But that doesn't prove a whole lot. You were able to off some low-level assassins. I still don't know if you'll be able to entertain me. There's not much fun in killing someone like you unless you'll set yourself apart from my other victims in some way."

Kliff was growing rather tired of this guy at this point. He extended Dragonslayer a bit closer toward him.

"How about being the first victim that ever carved your heart out of your chest while you were still alive to see it?"

Zato-1 merely snickered in reply to this, as if Kliff and he were in some bar and the old man had made some totally empty threat/joke about kicking his ass. That, in turn, only made the man angrier. He'd love to wipe that smile off of this guy's face. He was killing Gears that would eat him alive while Zato-1 was still in diapers. Besides, most people on Earth would say that Kliff was doing the world a favor. Zato-1 was at the head of many most wanted lists. He'd be executed if he was ever brought in. And from the things he had heard, Kliff knew this guy was a monster. He mutilated people with some sort of black parasite thing that he could summon at will. Still, however, he didn't make a move. He wanted Zato-1 to do so first. Once he did…he'd show him just who could outdo who in this building.

"Well, I can hardly say no to a boast like that." Zato-1 answered once he was done laughing. Lacing his fingers together, he cracked them as he took a few steps forward. Kliff was still a distance away from him, and so he simply watched with a dark glare as he came down. Once he was at a better position, he lowered a hand into a fist at his side, letting his other one hang limp. His smile was still on his face.

"Alrighty, Mr. Undersn. I do admire you somewhat for all of those Gears you wasted. And so, I'll give you three seconds before I make a move. Starting now."

Kliff didn't dispute this. He didn't challenge him to make his first blow. He didn't even hold back to plan a move. The moment that Zato-1 let out that last syllable, he decided to make him live to regret it. Without pause, he shot forward, sword outstretched, and sailed straight for his chest. A moment later, and the tip was plunging into it…

However, Kliff noticed something else. Right before the tip could plung in…what looked like black ink suddenly oozed out from the center of Zato-1's chest and rapidly spread across it, covering it in what seemed like a thick, black, non-reflective substance. His sword pierced into this a moment later…and an instant after that plunged all the way through and out the other side. Kliff continued to push it in, going over halfway along the blade toward the hilt, before he halted and stood his ground before Zato-1. He looked up to his face soon after.

The old man's eyes widened. Zato-1 hadn't changed at all. He didn't even register pain. He was still calmly smiling at him.

Kliff was surprised only a moment longer, but then clutched his blade hard again. Immediately, he began to rip up, shoving the blade up through the chest…and toward the neck and head. Yet an instant before he did this, the blackness shifted again. Now, tendrils of it lashed out and snaked up Zato-1's neck and across his face. It thickened quickly, swallowing his hair and skin and visor, until all that was left was an expressionless, contourless head-shaped mould. Kliff's blade shot up and through this, and a wet, separating sound resulted from the maneuver. The black substance parted in front of him, going off to either side like some black liquid had something move through it and disturb it.

Yet as soon as Kliff's blade left the head, the black rift in between it rushed back in like water from an impression. It melded and once again became the same head shape. After doing this, the blackness seemed to soak back into Zato-1's flesh. As it did, it revealed his regular body with the same clothing, hair, and expression as before. He continued to stand there calmly, not the least bit miffed by Kliff's small attack.

"Three seconds are up." Zato-1 stated.

A moment later, and Kliff's eyes widened again as he leapt back. It was a good thing too…for Zato-1 had whipped his arm at him. In the frame of a split second, the blackness had come out and covered his fist. But it didn't stop there. It thickened and became an ooze of some sort, and then some sort of sludge. It didn't stay formless or lumpy, but as Zato-1 lashed out his arm at Kliff, it formed a long, firm pseudopod…with what looked like white teeth and a cavernous mouth on the end. Kliff leapt back, just missing the pseudopod from slicing into his chest. He almost swore he could hear the mouth that had formed snap…

As quickly as it had come, the pseudopod melted back into blackness and seeped into Zato-1's limb again. Not wasting any time, he lashed his other arm out at Kliff. This one too turned into a pseudopod with teeth, and came even faster with a longer reach than last time. Kliff quickly leapt back out of the way again…but this time he felt razor-sharp fangs tear through his outer vest as he leapt back. The old man was shocked at these moves…and as such was halted momentarily as Zato-1 morphed his other limb back into a black tentacle, and then lashed both of them at the ceiling. They seized a girder and held on, and then constricted, lifting Zato-1 off the ground and swinging him forward. An instant later, and the man brought both of his feet forward to smash into Kliff's chest, sending the old man flying backward.

The blow knocked a good portion of wind out of the old man…more than he used to lose from a similar blow…and it made his eyes bulge as his mouth opened and gagged. However…it didn't completely knock the wind out of him. He went limp as the force of the blow made him fly backward, but only until he began to fall to the ground back first. Then, he quickly snapped to life and went into a backward somersault. His joints protested a bit, but he was able to take the rest of the momentum out through this, roll back to his feet, and spring up again. He still had Dragonslayer in his hand, and he quickly snapped it in front of him.

This was incredibly unexpected. Kliff had thought this guy was just using some sort of black thing as a weapon. It was far worse than that. It looked almost like he was using his _shadow_ as a weapon. It was actually melding to his body to become concrete…or noncorpeal, as it had been when he tried to slice through his body. He might have been blind, but this guy had great senses. He could see moves coming from a mile away, and if he did he could respond by having the shadow render his body invulnerable. Kliff needed to catch him off guard if he hoped to hurt him.

Zato-1 didn't seem eager to give him a chance, however. He released as soon as he finished swinging, and landed back on the ground. Immediately, he hunched over onto all fours, and once more the shadow bled out and covered his limbs. Once they did, they reformed into what looked like powerful muscle. A second later, and they pushed off, and Zato-1's body was sent flying toward the old man. The shadow around his legs immediately vanished, but that around his arms reformed to start making long, black spikes…

Seeing this, Kliff was forced to think quickly. There was only one move he could come up with. It was a bit unorthodox…but so was his opponent. As he neared, Kliff swung Dragonslayer around and slammed its tip into the concrete, holding it there. He yanked back on the handle a moment later, and the sword's natural give made it bend back. He put more of his own natural strength into it in order to pull it back even further, until Zato-1 was nearly on him. Then, he released.

The assassin definitely wasn't expecting this, because the result was the blade snapping back and smashing its flat and its hilt right against his face. It was a rather painful hit, because both of them were running toward each other at the same time. Yet of the two, Kliff was stronger. Zato-1 was smacked backward and sent flying back the way he came across the room. The shadow around his arms turned limp and became like some sort of black ribbons, trailing through the sky behind him as he sailed. He landed a moment later, and slid for a brief second…

But then, using his own agility, he sprung up and rolled out of the slide himself. Once he was back on his feet, he immediately shot back up onto his two legs. Kliff watched this, and realized that if he was senseless he couldn't control his shadow. But ignoring that, he pulled Dragonslayer back out and once more wielded it in front of him. As for Zato-1, he didn't look that shaken up when he stood. The main difference between him before and now was that his lenses were cracked.

_This_ he seemed to notice.

"Five thousand world dollar visor…" He remarked aloud, smiling all the way. "_Now_ I'm mad."

The man held up both hands in front of him, fingers outstretched. His shadow snaked out once again and went around each digit. As soon as it was there, it twisted and enlarged, becoming huge talons with two-foot, razor-sharp claws. Once that was complete, he charged at Kliff once again.

The old man grit his teeth, held onto his sword tight, and rushed forward again. His muscles and joints protested a bit, but he ignored it and met Zato-1 in the center of the room. He slashed for the man's neck, but the assassin didn't bother letting it pass through this time. He raised both sets of talons and intercepted. He pulled off one and sliced for Kliff's belly a moment later, forcing the old man to leap back and avoid it. Both swung their weapons forward and collided again a few additional times. The shadow, unfortunately, could become hard as steel as well as flaccid as water. It didn't take long for Kliff to realize that he was the one who was more at the disadvantage to be fighting him like this. Zato-1 was more nimble, and with a weapon he couldn't break. Also, even if Kliff could get through, he'd just make himself invulnerable again…

As Kliff thought this, Zato-1 suddenly shot out with an open hand as he drove his blade forward once more. To his surprise, the shadow hand, massive as it was, wrapped around the blade and _caught_ it. Zato-1 grinned, and then twisted it to one side…leaving Kliff wide open. The old man paled, and moved to twist his chest aside as he saw Zato-1's opposite hand morph into a spike…

He was too slow. A cold, biting pain tore through his side as the spike pierced through his clothing and grazed his flesh. Kliff's teeth clenched as his face went into agony. Yet he bore on through the pain. He quickly yanked back with his weapon, trying to free it.

Zato-1 let this happen. His fingers became ephemeral again, and the weapon easily slid out. Not wasting a second of this, and toughing through the pain, Kliff attempted to swing his sword at the other side. Still casual and smiling, Zato-1 turned his spike arm into another taloned hand, and he seized the blade once again. Once more, he wrenched it out of the way as he began to form his other hand into a spike.

Kliff's teeth grit in anger, not pain. He was playing with him again. He was treating the whole fight as a game. He hated this smarmy egotistical sack of sh't. As Zato-1 brought his spike back, he tried to think of something else he could do. In the end, based on his anger, he could only think of one thing.

Kliff raised a muscular leg and put the heel out. He already saw Zato-1 answer by having black tendrils snake over his chest…but Kliff was through with fighting "fair". Instead, he drove it forward as hard as he could, loving the crunching sound that resulted, as he smashed his heel into Zato-1's genitals.

The smile finally evaporated. The black shadow melted away into dimensionless ribbons again as Zato-1's mouth loosened and began to hang low. Dragonslayer was soon freed, and Kliff pulled it back to swing again, ready to end Zato-1's life. Yet even as he prepared to strike, and as Zato-1 groaned and began to bend over…his entire body began to cover with the black tendrils. Despite his pain, he must have realized how vulnerable he was. And to that end, he was making his entire body into shadow. Kliff cursed at the fact that he couldn't hurt him, but realized that there was nothing for it. Instead, he began to leap back and away from him again, getting some distance for the next hit… All the while, he wondered how he was able to do this. Though that kind of mind-numbing pain, it had to be a superhuman feat to be able to defend himself...

Soon, however, he got the answer. Although Zato-1 was still doubled over, and had to be in pain for a few more precious moments…the _shadow_ didn't seem so hindered. As Kliff watched, Zato-1's dark enveloped head appeared to have a lengthening on the back of it, almost like some sort of crest was forming. The blackness in front of the face parted, revealing a mouth and two eyes. Both eyes were burning red…and as they opened and focused on Kliff, they looked very hungry…and sadistic. Seeing it actually froze Kliff a moment. He knew he wasn't looking at Zato-1. He was looking at…the thing attached to him. He had no idea what it was, but he suddenly realized that it wasn't natural…and was immensely evil. Worst of all, it seemed to be able to work (at least in some cases) without Zato-1 directing it...making it a sentient entity...

The thing's mouth opened, revealing a set of monstrous black teeth, each one razor sharp. A moment later, and two more black extensions ripped out of its back…and instantly reformed into large, bat-like wings. In another instant, the demon-shaped monster took off and began to sail straight for Kliff. The old man's eyes widened in surprise again, and the freezing power ceased. He could move again, and he used the moment to pull back. He barely cleared it in time…before the monster was sailing down on his position. Yet even as it did so, the blackness melted back into the body beneath. The horrible grimace vanished along with the crest, revealing a rather angry expression beyond it belonging to a man with cracked sunglasses.

Kliff had managed to get a good distance away when Zato-1 finally landed, but once he was there, Kliff noticed that he still had a large amount of black shadow clinging to his legs. The assassin pulled himself to full height…and right after doing so the black suddenly lashed out. This time it didn't form an extension of his limbs. Instead, it turned into a half dozen black tentacles, each one shooting straight for Kliff. Again, the old man was shocked. He tried to leap back…but it was too late. The horrible appendages struck his legs and lashed around them with a horrible cracking sound. Though he was wearing clothes, they stung as they wrapped around his limbs. With one snap, they yanked him to the ground, making him land hard on his back. Then they began to retract, pulling Kliff back toward Zato-1…

The man looked up to his foe, and saw he was starting to smile again. The black tendrils were once again gathering around his torso. However…they weren't making a simple black spot. As they formed, he began to see a long, bestial snout with lots of teeth start to emerge from it. It had two red eyes perched above the nostrils… It was the thing. Zato-1 was trying to feed him to it…

Kliff was already over halfway there. He sprawled out his free hand to stop his progress, but he wasn't succeeding. The thing was starting to snarl and drool. The old man looked down and to the assassin's body. The legs were still black. He could strike them, but he couldn't hurt them. However, he thought he might still be able to pull something off. Praying that it worked, he stopped struggling and put his other hand onto Dragonslayer's hilt as well. With as much power as he could muster, feeling himself pull a muscle in the process, he swung out with the sword for Zato-1's legs as soon as he was in range.

The blade went through again…but this time, Kliff had so much power that it ripped away at the shadow joining the two halves. And because Zato-1 had to make himself invulnerable to survive the hit…he suddenly had no support for his lower legs. Gaping a bit himself, Zato-1 spilled backward and began to fall to the ground. Once more, the surprise made his shadow turn back into black immaterial. It vanished back into Zato-1's body, and the assassin landed on his back moments later.

As soon as Kliff was free, he ignored his own internal aches and pains and shot back onto his feet. He yanked Dragonslayer up, twisted it into a downward position, and lunged forward. He had to finish him now before he could recover. He couldn't fight both this man and his devil. He had less stamina, and this fight would be over if he drug it out much longer. An instant later, and Kliff was shooting over Zato-1's body, moving to plunge the end of his sword through his chest.

Yet Zato-1 was still faster at recovering. As the sword neared him, Zato-1's arms sprung to life, shot up, turned into black gunk, and then smashed on either side of Dragonslayer in a blade-catch move. They immediately pressed out and held it…but Kliff continued to push. The result made Zato-1 quiver. Despite his own power, Kliff was strong too in terms of raw physical strength. The two of them buckled for a moment as they tried to overwhelm the other.

Zato-1 ended up being the winner. Abruptly, he twisted his black arms to one side, and allowed Kliff's force to carry through. The old man gaped, but was powerless to stop himself from driving his sword harmlessly into the concrete at the side of his opponent. The inertia was impossible to overcome instantly, and so he was stuck there. Once more, he was unable to defend himself as Zato-1 shot up a leg, morphed it into an extended black appendage, and caught Kliff under the jaw.

The old man was flung back again, nearly across the room. As he fell to the ground and connected again, he was unable to keep himself from sliding against it this time. His head throbbed and was swimming. His jaw ached from the blow. The shadow could hit as well as slash. He managed to keep ahold of his weapon, but his body was otherwise limp as he slid to a halt a moment later.

Kliff was now feeling very stiff and sore. His body was growing tired as well. This fight had been more than he had bargained for, and the difference in stamina was beginning to show. He wasn't able to move as fast or recover as quickly as he used to. However, he still forced himself to move as quick as he could. Though he thought he popped some vertebrae in the process, Kliff flipped himself up and back onto his feet. The move made his head swim a bit and sweat more than he wanted, but he was back up and facing Zato-1 again.

The assassin was already coming for him. He was moving casual again, and grinning evilly. He had to be evil. What other kind of man would harbor that monster he had in him? Yet that was besides the point. Kliff had to stop him. But how? Charging at him would likely have the same results as before…nothing. And he was closing too quickly to do much else…

The old man looked around for a moment, trying to see if there was anything he could use. There were some slash marks on the ground from the fight so far. He was still surrounded by junk as well. Also, he realized he had somehow reversed positions with Zato-1. Now he was next to the radio…

_The radio…_

It seemed desperate, but hopefully it would stall him long enough to truly hurt him. He'd likely laugh this attack off anyway…which would hopefully be the bit of cockiness Kliff needed to win. Without anymore hesitation, Kliff raised Dragonslayer, shoved it forward to impale the radio on the end of it (ignoring the shock he got from tearing through electronics…he could take a lot more than minor electrocution), and then twisted it around and swung his blade at Zato-1. The radio went flying off the end and toward Zato-1 like a projectile.

The assassin stopped, and took the briefest moment to chuckle. He raised an arm next, and immediately the blackness peeled out of it and flattened, becoming a large, broad, thick surface. It was like a shield. Moments later, and the radio impacted it. It shattered into a hundred pieces, and though Zato-1's arm buckled a bit, nothing else happened. The remains clattered to the ground, sending out a lot of tinkling noises but doing no other damage. Once all of the pieces had fallen, the shield vanished, and Zato-1's arm lowered as he grinned at Kliff.

"Is that what you're reduce-"

Zato-1 cut himself off as his eyes widened. Moving quickly, his body began to turn black again. But it was too late. Kliff had intended on Zato-1 wasting time focusing on the projectile and knocking it out of the air. The resulting smash against his shield had covered the air with the sounds of tiny pieces falling everywhere, masking his hearing ability, while the eyes of the shadow focused on the radio itself. As a result, he didn't notice Kliff quickly plung his sword deep into the floor, and then use all of his power to yank out a massive chunk of concrete, about half the size of Zato-1's body and twice as heavy, out of the ground on the end, and then fling _that_ at him.

The concrete connected, and Zato-1 was ripped off of his feet. Parts of him turned into black tendrils, but too much of him was solid now. He couldn't break free. The power cast him back across the room, smashing him into other objects as he sailed, until he reached edge of the floor. There were no walls there to stop him, and his body immediately went flying out over the edge and then began to sink into oblivion.

Kliff was heaving now, hung limply in the last position he had taken with his sword in front of him, where he had flung the concrete off of the blade. His arms and back were killing him from throwing that much at Zato-1 at once. But only after a short pause, he forced himself to keep moving. He was unable to lift the sword onto his back at the moment, and so he simply ran out toward the edge of the floor after shifting his sword to his side. He had to make sure he had done enough damage to kill him…or at least keep him from coming back. A few seconds later, and he was at the edge. He quickly looked down.

He nearly swore at the sight. The piece of rubble fell to the ground and shattered, but Zato-1 wasn't beneath it. Instead, an ebony demon had taken flight again, using its ability to glide to go to the building across the street. It was a good ten floors below Kliff now. Moments later, it sailed toward one of the windows of the other building. It reached out and caught itself there, and ducked its body halfway into the structure. Yet before it went any further, it wheeled around and looked back up, all the way back toward Kliff.

Moments later, and the black demon seemed to _separate_ from Zato-1. It continued to retain its head, mouth, and ravenous glare…but it became some sort of shadowy being separate from the human…assuming you could still call that assassin human. Now, both it and the cocky, grinning face of the Spaniard were looking up to Kliff and showing their teeth.

"Not bad, old timer!" Zato-1 called up to the man. "I'll be waiting for our rematch!"

The shadow, however, raised one of its long, taloned hands…and proceeded to give Kliff the finger as it snickered. A moment later, and it melded back into Zato-1's body, as the assassin himself turned and ducked into the building.

Kliff stared down at him angrily…not sure whether he should be furious or grateful. Zato-1 barely looked hurt. Only the visor had a mark on it. He, on the other hand, was still bleeding from his side, and his body felt as stiff and sore as a piece of human chewing gum. He had been out of practice for far too long. He should have at least stretched before going into this fight. At any rate, he was in hardly any shape to chase after Zato-1. He'd be long gone by the time he got into that building. And even if he could…what then? Would he once more barely survive being mutilated/devoured by that thing he had attached to him?

The most infuriating thing was that he realized that both Frederick and Zato-1 were right. He had to be getting too old for this. His power and skill were inferior to what they had once been. He had nearly been killed more than once in that fight. This wasn't just irritating…it was scary to him. If he became invalid and unable to fight, then what? How would he live out the rest of his life? Sitting around and waiting to die? Unable to challenge a potential executor to a fight to the death? So much for the great Kliff Undersn…

Honestly, Kliff was too sore and tired to care right now. He had to get back to Frederick. He hadn't found anything, but he needed to doctor his injuries. He had to do something about his sore body before tomorrow if he was going to be able to keep fighting.

* * *

The lone observer crooked an eyebrow.

"I suppose you both proceed to the next round then…"

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: Lull in the Battle...

1st Round Results:

Match 1: Axl Low vs. Millia Rage

Winner: Millia Rage

Match 2: Sol Badguy vs. Chipp Zanuff

Winner: Sol Badguy

Match 3: May vs. Potemkin

Winner: Potemkin

Match 4: Ky Kiske vs. Dr. Baldhead

Winner: Ky Kiske

Match 5: Kliff Undersn vs. Zato-1

Winner: DRAW

ELIMINATED: Axl Low, Chipp Zanuff, May, Dr. Baldhead

MOVING ON TO ROUND 2: Millia Rage, Sol Badguy, Potemkin, Ky Kiske, Kliff Undersn, Zato-1

So...out of the first five battles, what was your favorite?


	16. Lull in the Battle

**"Light and Shadow"**

* * *

Kliff looked up but didn't react when he began to hear footsteps. He knew Frederick's gait from a mile away. Besides, there was no reason for anyone else to be at the top of this building. No one else knew they were there, and Kliff had made sure he wasn't followed. He also made sure to stay quiet once on top of the ruin, and keep from moving around too much at the windows. Added to the fact that the sun was nearly down, and he was quite unseen and undetectable. And so, he was still quite calm when the figure of Sol Badguy crossed over the top of the stairs. 

He continued to walk until he hit the top, but then came to a halt. He turned and looked down at the old man as he sat on the ground. Kliff had pulled off of his vest and was finishing bandaging up his side. There was also a bottle of muscle soreness ointment open nearby, which had obviously been used. Dragonslayer lay on the ground wrapped up again, but a sharpening stone was next to it.

Sol stared at this for a moment, while Kliff stared back, having stopped in the middle of adjusting one of his bandages. The younger-looking man had an emotionless expression, but also took on a hint of a dark look with it.

"…I see you didn't take my advice."

Kliff merely frowned and snorted. "You're damn right, I didn't. You may still be able to kick my ass after all these years, but I'm a bit too big to spank."

"Who was it?" Sol asked, unmiffed by this retort.

"Zato-1." Kliff answered, looking back to his wound and tending to it once again. He snorted again. "I'd like for this to be the part where I say, 'If you think this is bad, you should see what I did to him.' But I think I might be too generous even calling our fight a draw." He looked back to Sol a moment later, his gaze hard and warning. "If you run into him, Fred…watch yourself. He's got some sort of thing living under his skin. It doesn't just act like a weapon. It can make him invulnerable too. There was even a point where I thought it was able to keep going after I knocked him senseless."

This last part seemed to catch Sol's interest. He lifted his head a bit at it. But once Kliff was finished, he too relaxed again and showed no emotion. He soon began to walk forward. After a few moments, he was next to Kliff's side, and bent down next to him.

"I found some leads."

Kliff looked up to this, ignoring his wound again.

"Not exactly what I planned on." Sol continued. "But something significant none the less. I remember most of the water systems in this country from when it was still functioning. There are two new ones. Small canals, to be precise."

Kliff's brow furrowed. He gave a shrug. "So? What would that matter?"

"He's using a major power source of some sort if he's able to force a signal all over the planet from a single, Earth-bound location." Sol answered. "And if he's using weapons, they require a lot of energy as well. I doubt that the systems he's using could stand to tolerate this level of power without overheating. He could build a cooling system, but that would only put out more power and heat. I believe he's using the canals to cool it down through water channeling."

Kliff paused and thought about this. It made sense, he supposed. He knew there was a similar system operating at IPF headquarters. Far better to use the Earth's natural power than build an expensive system to have to do it. He was fairly sure it was present in other large corporations. And it was the most effective way. Too much energy might put out some tailpipe that could be pursued. In the end, Kliff gave a nod.

"Alright. So I guess you want me to take one and you to take the other tomorrow, eh?"

"There's something else."

The edge with which Sol said this sentence made Kliff forget about his wound all together, as well as the fact that Sol had just ignored his question. Sol was a man who very rarely showed emotion when it wasn't necessary. But he had just put a rather sharp edge on his voice. That meant something bad.

"We're being hunted." He finished a moment later.

The old man quirked an eyebrow. "Hunted? What do you mean by that?"

"Someone's watching the fighters and picking up the losers." Sol answered.

Kliff gave a shrug at this. "So? You'd kind of expect that, wouldn't you? The host would probably count on it…"

"I doubt they're being moved off of England." Sol went on. "And whoever is picking them up is not human."

The old man hesitated again here. "What?"

"Because of my power over fire, I can detect heat signatures from people in a given area." Sol continued. "A fighter encountered me earlier. I defeated him and left him unconscious. I went ahead a bit farther to check out the area, but then I went back to see if he was seriously hurt. Instead, he was gone. Normally I can detect the warmth left behind by whoever would have been there. All I detected was his. Whoever or whatever picked him up wasn't giving off any heat."

This truly interested Kliff. "Are you sure? You didn't just miss him?"

"The signature would have taken two hours to fade. And my opponent's was still fresh."

Kliff hesitated again on hearing this. Both men sat in silence. In the end, however, Kliff cracked a smile. "So…_you_ went ahead and got into a fight too."

Sol didn't bother giving this any response. After a moment, Kliff himself frowned and realized that it really didn't matter. Especially not in the light of this. Kliff wasn't a person who relied heavily on magical abilities, and as such didn't fully understand what Sol was describing. Yet once again, this was Sol he was talking about. Of course, that in and of itself was unsettling. He had been going on a lot of faith so far, and he had hoped that things would come to fruition so that they would be clearer to him. Instead, things were growing more and more muddled, and Kliff was feeling more and more like some outsider looking in. After seven decades, he was still the innocent boy to Sol's knowledgable man.

Kliff couldn't suppress the thought that he had some small measure of resentment toward this. However, he put it aside. This sounded important.

"Do you think this is another fighter?"

Sol looked back to him. "Do you?" He simply responded.

Kliff was a bit taken aback by that answer. He didn't think Sol would say that. However, he soon realized what he was doing. Kliff had just thrown out that idea. But now that Sol had given it back to him, he started to think it through. He soon began to frown.

"Actually, no." Kliff answered. "Unless it's some sort of psychopath like that guy they let out from the mental ward. Whoever'd be fighting would want the prizes, but they wouldn't have to take the beaten fighters with them." The old man paused a moment, but then quirked his brow.

"You don't suppose…" He paused again, and then continued his idea. "What if it's the host? I mean, we've all got stuck on this island to fight some big battle that he can just sit back and watch. But then that doesn't make much sense either. He wanted the winners from what he was talking about…to form his new Sacred Order. So why would he want the losers?"

"I don't know." Sol answered. "But this reminds me of the conversation we had the other day. We went on the hypothesis that our host could possibly be a Gear himself or herself, and that they would have wanted to somehow bring Justice back. To that end, they had some reason for attracting the best fighters in the world to this place. And now they're taking up the losers."

Kliff gave a shrug. "That's where our theory breaks down, Frederick. We assumed that he wanted the best fighters here for some reason that had to do with Justice. Yet now he's interested in the losers. They've just thrown our logic for a loop."

"Actually, they haven't done anything of the sort."

Again, Kliff found himself looking to Sol in puzzlement and attentiveness.

"We were assuming that the only reason that he or she was bringing the strongest fighters here was because he or she needed them for some reason that had to do with Justice." Sol explained. "If we go a bit father and assumed that he or she needed them for a purpose that they might not agree with…then everything else falls into place. He or she might have wanted the strongest fighters and been too weak personally to obtain them. So he or she hosts a tournament to bring them here. But once here, there's still the matter of subduing them.

"Only the strongest were ever supposed to apply. Even the losers in this tournament could easily beat any group of people chosen at random from anywhere in the world. Even they could be valuable if the host is looking for strength or power. And the best way to subdue them without using any effort is to wait for them to lose a battle, and then seize them."

Kliff thought this over for a moment. He supposed it did make sense. It fit with the idea of a tournament, at any rate. And Sol was right. Just because they were the "losers" in the tournament didn't make them any less capable fighters. They were still elite by anyone else's standards. But even though it meshed with what they had discovered so far, it still didn't prove much. For now, they were still assuming a lot. There wasn't any conclusive evidence to make what they were thinking of the truth. And their theories were still missing one rather large piece…

"Alright then…but that still leaves one problem. _Why_ would he want the fighters here in the first place? We can assume that it might have something to do with Justice…that it might even be the impossible and it's a way to break him out. But we still have no evidence and no answers."

"I know." Sol simply answered. "And I've exhausted all of my own knowledge on the subject, but I hardly presume to know everything. If there is a connection between this tournament, what we've discovered and reasoned, and Justice, then there's only one person nearby who can give us the answer."

"Who?"

"Ky Kiske."

Kliff leaned back a bit at this. "Ky?"

"He's the one who made the seal and knew about the nature of the seals that the Sacred Order produced." Sol responded. "I never bothered too much in those affairs, and magic wasn't your area of expertise. He would know better than anyone. If there is a way to break the seal, he would know it. And he's on this island. If we want to solve this mystery, we have to talk to him. So we should keep an eye out for him when we check out the canals tomorrow."

Kliff looked rather incredulous at that.

"I don't see how you reason _we_, Fred. First of all, we don't even know whether or not he hasn't been one of the 'losers' himself, and gotten captured...although I highly doubt it, when I think about it. But even if he isn't, what then? If I run into him and try and talk to him, he'll probably order me off England before I can get a word in edgewise. He's such a stuffed shirt I doubt I can get much leeway through old hero worship. And if he runs into _you_…then _both_ of you will be on the loser list after you've finished tearing each other apart."

"Be that as it may, he's the only one who would know on this island." Sol answered. "And if this mysterious host does have evil intentions…if he or she really _is_ looking for a way to restore Justice…then it's a risk I'm willing to take." Sol paused for a moment after saying this, but then, surprisingly, he actually cracked a smile at Kliff.

"Besides…weren't you saying that you could still 'spank him'?"

Kliff was surprised a bit by Sol's smile, but even more surprised by his comment. He stared at him for a moment, but then cracked a smile. After all…this was the closest Sol had come to a compliment concerning his skill in a long time.

"Come to think of it…I believe I can."

* * *

The first thing May remembered feeling was sore all over. Every square inch of her body felt stiff and tight. She had never felt this achy before in her life. It was like every single muscle she possessed had turned to rock. She couldn't move anything. She was too senseless initially to remember anything that had happened. The fight…the beating…the contest…the fact that she was on England…even what had happened to Johnny. She only began to wonder if she had been working too hard the day before and had wiped herself out, or if her latest raid had been too taxing for her. 

_My latest raid…what was my latest raid? It was on…England, wasn't it? By why would I go to England? There's nothing there… Nothing but giant bronzed giants who take blows that would decimate a tank to their heads and keep going… Who only know how to say 'tournament' before they knock you through a wall and outside of the building, and leave you to get eaten by whatever animals are on this godforsaken…_

As May thought this to herself…it began to click. The tournament… Johnny… The fact that the huge giant had knocked her out of a building…

The girl's eyes snapped open…and immediately she saw darkness illuminated by pale, green light. She saw instantly that she wasn't outside anymore. She was in some sort of dark chamber…like a cave or, more appropriately, a hole in the ground. She wasn't on her back, but was somehow upright. And so, she was able to look in front of her and see quite a bit.

The chamber was more like a giant, biconvex disk rather than being your basic rectangular room. And because of that, it didn't look like the chamber had been built at all, but had just occurred naturally. What helped this out was that all the walls were dark, and looked to have either soil or rock composing them. Yet it was hard to tell for certain due to the darkness…and also due to the fact that the walls, the ceiling, and the floor were littered with giant tree roots bulging out and snaking everywhere. The roots themselves were unlike any plant May had ever seen before. The bark was too smooth and they seemed to snake around too much. It almost looked like tentacles or something…

Only the ground had any sign of being a "room" in the traditional sense of the word. It had metal panels, although the roots were pushing them out and making it highly uneven. And although this place looked like some hole, it obviously was not. Far across from her there was some sort of computer array. It wasn't a small one either. It was large, like some sort of desk, and was covered with numerous controls. In front of it, glowing out with pale white lights, were some twenty television screens arrayed to form some sort of wall of information. Each one was showing a different image, and had a small bit of text on it. It was obvious that it was some sort of security system. If that wasn't all, each image turned after a few seconds, showing that they represented far more cameras than only twenty. The pale green light that illuminated the room was shining out from behind certain roots throughout the chamber, and it almost looked like it was coming from it…

There was a single person in May's vision as well. A large, high-backed, reclining chair was in front of the console. Most of the body behind it was concealed…but May could make out some sort of black material hanging over the sides…and two, bone-white hands hanging on the rests. One flexed while the other drummed a single finger.

May blinked once or twice, but then decided to try and move. Yet as she did…she was halted. This time it wasn't just muscle stiffness. Her body was being kept rigid, and she realized she couldn't move anything. She tried to turn her head down to see the cause…only to find that she couldn't move that either. And so, she looked down with her eyes alone…and let out a small gasp at what she saw.

May was cocooned inside a mass of tree roots. They seemed to form a body-sized sac of interlocking roots around her body, but now that she looked at it, she realized through feeling that each one of her limbs had been wrapped dozens of times in tree roots beneath this exterior. She was completely covered from head to toe. Only her face was exposed. Her body was suspended inside this prison of roots between two large ones that had split into smaller ones to become her restraints, one above and one below. It was completely impossible to move in the slightest. She couldn't even shift a single finger.

Despite how futile it was, May instinctively struggled against it. It was useless. She couldn't even pull her muscles enough to get any power. She might as well have been entombed in cement. Still, she couldn't just stay there. She had no idea where she was, how she had gotten here, or what in the world was going on. She looked like she had suddenly been teleported into some sort of horror film. You couldn't tie people up in tree roots. Somehow, she had been put here, and now she was stuck… She pressed on harder…

"If you continue to do that…you will have to be punished."

May paused in the middle of her struggling as she heard that voice. It was like ice water running down her spine. She would have shivered visibly if her restraints hadn't rendered her incapable of movement. However…the voice didn't appear to come from any source or person. It seemed to reverberate and echo throughout the entire chamber. When it penetrated the body, it seemed to sink into one's core of their being and then shake the insides. She actually felt her throat go dry and stiffen.

"Who…who's there?" She finally asked.

"I'm right in front of you." The voice simply answered.

May looked back to the person in the chair. Although one could think that she logically should have assumed he would have been the source…the fact was that the voice was so unsettling and powerful, and coming from all directions, that it was impossible to make that connection. Added to the fact that May was feeling rather scared at this point, and it made it even worse. She suddenly realized that she was trapped and helpless in this strange, dark chamber. No one knew where she was…and she couldn't defend herself.

A hiss of steam went off from the chair in front of May. The girl snapped out of her thoughts and watched. As she did, the chair slowly rotated in place until it turned around and faced her. Once there, another hiss went out as it came to a stop…and she was left looking straight at the master of this chamber.

May couldn't see the face. A black hood had been drawn over it. Most of his body was scantily clad, however. What looked like the remains of some long, black uniform hung around him from brass rings and black leather straps. In particular, he had a black strap around his pectoral area with parts of black sleeves hanging around his elbows. The hood seemed to come from this. As for his legs, a long black uniform "skirt" was fastened around his middle and left to go down the rest of his shins and forelegs. Much of it was still exposed, and for all May knew he was naked under it. He also had tight fitting black gloves and boots without stockings, just having been slipped on. Actually, based on the dress…May wasn't really sure it was a man. It looked almost like appropriate attire for a woman, and it was covering the "appropriate" parts. His own form was so thin that it was nearly lanky, although it did have quite a bit of muscle, so it could have possibly been either. However…the cold voice had been decidedly male. Last but not least…the skin was bone white. It wasn't makeup, however. And it wasn't a lack of sun either. It seemed like it was his natural color…

May didn't know what to say. Faced with this strange person, locked in this stranger prison, and unable to think of what any of this had to do with where she had been before she went unconscious…she could only gape. The result was a few moments of her silently staring at this faceless man as he looked back to her unmoving.

"Where…where am I?" May finally asked, not really sure she wanted to speak to this person.

"You can think of this as…a 'loser's bracket' to the tournament." The figure answered after a moment. His voice was still chilling. "However…it is in this place that the true prize to the contest will be won."

May's eyes widened at this. "Then that means…you're the host?"

The dark hood slowly nodded.

"Who are you?" May immediately followed up. "Better yet…_what_ are you?"

May could never see the face, but she almost thought she imagined the man's look growing darker.

"Who am I?" He echoed back. As he did, he pulled his hands up and put them on the arm rests. He slowly pushed up, and began to come to his feet. The room seemed to grow a bit darker and colder as he did so, and May suddenly felt much smaller than him, although from where she was suspended her head still hung over his.

"I am death." The man answered, his tone grave and serious. "I am humanity's final punishment. And I am the last testament for this age. I said this many times before…each whenever I slaughtered a member of the Sacred Order. Because of that…you humans have grown to call me, 'Testament'."

This sentence was so dark and smooth that May was rendered mute once again. Although the man did nothing more than stand up and vault his sudden size and seeming increase in muscle, it plus his icy words were enough to make her silent for a moment. And suddenly, she felt far more afraid. May knew little about the war that had taken place not long ago. Most of the time she stayed in countries with Johnny that were far from the fighting. But she did know that the Sacred Order of Holy Knights were supposed to be the "good guys"…and that the ones who wanted to kill them were…

That was impossible. They were supposed to be all dead. And yet…May thought she remembered seeing a Gear bounty poster with a name "Testament"…

"Are you…a Gear?"

The shadowy man didn't answer or move.

May swallowed. She might as well get this next question out. It was the worst one.

"Are you…going to kill me?"

"Yes." Testament flatly answered, as simply and easily as if he was saying any other word. May felt her body turn to ice again on hearing this.

"Not now, however." He continued after May had turned almost as white as him. "You may live a bit longer for the time being. I doubt you have what I need, but in the end I might pool your material with those of the other losers. I do not enjoy killing children. If this were any other circumstance, I might spare you. Yet as it is…if you behave I promise to make your death as merciful and quick as possible. On the other hand…if you cause trouble…"

Immediately, May felt something in her bonds respond to Testament's voice. To her surprise, the roots that were wrapped around her neck suddenly tightened, and immediately pinched her windpipe shut. May's eyes bulged, and she opened her mouth to say something…only to find that nothing came out. Movies normally had people gag when they were being choked, but in real life you can't say anything. You can't breathe, after all. Yet it was a horrible sensation. She had never been choked before. Now she couldn't breathe…and though she desperately tried all she obtained was agony as a result. Her mouth opened and closed, vainly clutching for air. Her body struggled violently against the roots to grab for her throat, but for all her work her body was as immobile as a statue within its prison.

Then, as it began to grow unbearable…the roots loosened. They stayed firmly wrapped around her neck, but they let her breathe. May immediately gasped. Her head swam, but she couldn't slump. All she could do was hang limply in the roots, but seeing as they were already holding her steady it didn't matter. She panted for a moment, struggling to get air, feeling her head clear. But as she panted, Testament calmly watched her from his own position. Once she began to quiet down, he spoke up again.

"You're quite helpless in your restraints, but so long as your face remains free I know you can be loud, meddlesome, and belligerent." He explained. "Doing so will be considered causing trouble. If you do, I might just choke you to death. But I can also make thorns grow out of every last one of your restraints, and they can pierce you inside and out from a dozen places. If you _truly_ upset me…I can have each one of your bonds tighten until you are crushed into ooze and leak out from the branches. Were you an adult human, I'd do that instantly. Yet don't think that because you're still just a girl that you can test my patience."

May couldn't respond. She panted a bit longer, still trying to catch her breath. She did in the end, and when she did she realized she was still helpless and at Testament's mercy. Her weak eyes looked to him…and suddenly turned a shade dark.

"…Assh'le."

"I'll let that one slide." Testament answered. "The insults of humans mean little to me. At any rate, I need something else from you now."

Abruptly, May's anger vanished as she stiffened. She winced and gave a cry again, but this time she was able to do it. Sharp pains had suddenly dipped into her body in a dozen places. For a moment, she thought that Testament was doing it. He was going to turn her into a human pincushion. However…the pain soon began to subside. It didn't intensify, and she adjusted to it. What more, May realized that the pain was only in her skin. It wasn't going any deeper. It was still rather painful, though. She looked to Testament again.

"What're you-"

May cut herself off as she saw something. One of the roots was lifting off of her. Forgetting about Testament, she looked down to this. She even risked a move…but to no avail. She was still quite immobilized. The root itself pulled out and rotated its tip forward, sticking straight out toward Testament. Once it got that far, it turned over and pointed downward. There, it came to a stop.

Here, the man walked forward. He came up to the root itself before halting. That done, he raised up a hand out to the root. As if by magic, a Petri dish of some sort had appeared in his outstretched palm. May watched for a moment, before she saw something. The root began to dribble a liquid into the dish, like some sort of scientific pipette. The liquid was deep red and thick…and soon made May pale as she realized what it was.

_He's tapping my blood!_

May might have screamed out…if she wasn't afraid of what Testament had threatened earlier…that the thorns would go in the rest of the way and do some real harm. At any rate, it was soon over. Testament only waited until the dish was partially full before pulling it away. The blood immediately cut off, and the root returned to May. The prickling sensations pulled out again. As for the man himself, he turned with it and went back to the console. He soon sat back in his chair, turned around back to the computer array, and placed the dish in a certain area. May knew little of labs or scientific equipment, so she could only reason that Testament was using something. She couldn't see that well from this distance, but she heard some sort of machinery humming. Testament himself typed a few keys, and then leaned back and looked up to one of his security camera screens.

A moment later, and the image of some location on the island was replaced by a computer readout. It had a lot of text on it, and as such May couldn't make anything out from where she was. She did notice that although most of the text was white, a few places were blinking red. Testament examined this a moment, before speaking aloud again.

"Hmph. As I thought. Totally inadequate. Even if I combined you with the other prisoner, it would do no good."

May looked puzzled at this. "Huh? Other prisoner?"

For the first time since waking up, the girl began to look around the sides of her vision. Most of it was only peripheral, as she couldn't turn her head. However, she did soon notice that she wasn't alone in this chamber. At her right, another cocoon of tree roots had formed. Whoever it was, May couldn't make him or her out. Not only that, but there were places for quite a few more around the room…

"Chipp Zanuff." Testament responded. "He began to come to about the time I had your body contained. I used the opportunity to take his blood. He was a bit…unruly, so to speak. He took a considerable amount of punishment. I eventually had to render him unconscious again to get him to be quiet. I can't kill him yet, unfortunately. I may still need him as well as you. But next time, I might just have the roots rip off one of his arms or legs."

May's eyes widened again.

"That's crazy!" She yelled back. "Who are you, anyway? Why are you doing this to us? What did we ever do to you? What do you want our blood for?"

"At least the utter inadequacy of your life force shows that I couldn't have hoped for much better with Axl Low." Testament continued, oblivious to May's comments. "So it's not necessarily a waste if he's dead. Though I have most of this island covered with cameras with such low power and heat that neither Ky Kiske or Sol Badguy could hope to detect them, I can't put them everywhere, and there's a good two minute gap between snapshot times. So unlikely as it is, as I haven't seen him so far, he might actually still be alive. He'd be a considerably better addition than you two."

"What are you talking about?" May called back.

Again, Testament seemed to ignore this. "On the other hand…I am _considerably_ angry about losing Dr. Baldhead. I'm sure he would have made an excellent candidate. I bet I could have combined him with you two and finished right now. As it is…I suppose I'll have to wait for one of the other candidates. Hopefully they won't disappoint me. The weak have been weeded out. Only the six strongest remain."

Only now did Testament incline his head very slightly behind him. "You're fortunate, child. You will get to see the unfolding of the next two days. At the end of which, I might decide to let you live long enough to see the most incredible event of our time. In the meantime…if you believe in God, I'd start to pray to Him. Pray for yourself…but, more important, pray for your species."

With that, Testament turned back to the console.

May stared blankly at him for a moment longer, but then felt herself begin to sweat. Testament's words were all chilling and serious. And she didn't like the sound of that last sentence. And she _definitely_ didn't like the time limit that was now imposed on her life.

She resolved herself to do as Testament said. She'd "be good"…but only to live as long as possible. If she was "good" in his eyes, she'd earn as much time as she could. She'd need every second.

_I've got to think of a way to get out of here._

_And I've only got two days…_

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: Light and Shadow...


	17. Light and Shadow

Hey everyone. I really appreciate the feedback about the fight sequences. I'm not sure how many of you have experience with it, but writing a fight sequence is probably the hardest thing to write, at least for me. I was a bit scared of doing this kind of fanfiction based on how many fight sequences I would have to do. The worst part is that it's easy to stagnate. When you're doing so many in rapid succession, you can run out of moves to do really quickly. If you make the fight too simple with lots of small moves, it's boring. If you make the fight have too many large moves, it stops looking like a fight and more like each guy trading their strongest moves and trying to withstand them to hit back.

* * *

**"Light and Shadow"**

* * *

Although Ky hated to admit it, he had to sleep after yesterday. Although once he had fully unleashed his power he had managed to defeat Baldhead, it had still been a difficult fight. It had definitely taxed him physically. And so, after placing a marker to help him track the location down again so that he wouldn't need to use his transponder once more, Ky returned back to his base camp and settled in for the night. Of course, he had put up numerous alarm systems to make sure that he couldn't be ambushed before settling in, and he did keep the Thunderseal close by. However, the night passed without incident…other than a few unsettling dreams of a madman with glowing lens eyes… Dr. Baldhead was a man so twisted that even someone who killed him couldn't hope to even get his haunting face out of their minds again.

Yet when morning came, Ky was up and at the ready again. He was only a little sore from a few bruises obtained from Dr. Baldhead. Luckily he hadn't been cut by him in any places. Once he was dressed and in his official uniform, he once again set out for the location he had been in yesterday.

It took a bit longer than he remembered it, but luckily he was able to find it easier than yesterday even with it covered thanks to his marker. And the outside did effectively mask any possibility at detection when it was shut. Once he arrived, however, he still had the darkness to deal with. Yet that was avoided as well. He didn't need to use a light. He simply drew the Thunderseal and summoned his power to encircle it. After that, an electric blue light illuminated the chamber. He had to walk a distance before he went out of the range that had been cut by Dr. Baldhead, but in the end he reemerged into a well lit area. After that, he sheathed his sword and continued.

For the most part, it was just a sewer. Nothing too spectacular stood out. It changed a few times at certain junction points, but it stayed pretty clean throughout. Ky was glad. He wouldn't have enjoyed wading through muck and filth. It was a long trip, however. There were branching points, but each one of them led into darkness. Ky stayed on the route with the lights. This path led him on for miles and miles in the same direction. Nothing came up, and nothing else changed. However, he kept following it. These lights couldn't have been left running and untouched for over a hundred years and not break down. They had to be recent. This had to lead somewhere.

After going a few miles, Ky actually stopped long enough to take out his transponder and investigated for signs of life. Instead, all he saw was the same pathway leading onward. He did it again once he came to the end of that path, but once again saw nothing. After packing up and moving again, he was beginning to grow tired. He had walked all morning and still hadn't gotten anywhere. Even if this corridor had been serviced, England was long. If this path was leading him to the center, it could still be a couple days before reaching it.

As Ky was beginning to wonder if he should try and get out and try and find something else…he finally encountered a stop. After going through a twisted junction area and entering another tunnel, he noticed that this one had an end to it. It didn't run on like all the others before. It was still long and he couldn't immediately see what was at the end, and so he continued to walk a bit farther. As he did, details began to become clearer. Much as in the area where he had initially entered, there was a stone wall with a large drain at the back. And as he grew closer yet, he began to see bits of a metal ladder as well, much as where he had entered. He had seen several during his journey, but seeing as there was nowhere else to go from here it caught far more of his interest.

Ky came to a stop at the end of this place, standing before the ladder. He looked up through the small cylindrical area that led to the manhole cover, but saw nothing. It had been covered up. He looked down again, and over to the drain area. However, there was only darkness on the other side. If this did lead somewhere, then up here had to be the place. Turning his head back up toward the ladder, he stretched out his hands and grabbed it, and then began to climb.

In no time at all, Ky had reached the top. His head nearly touched the manhole cover. He looked up a bit, toward the opening slot that was in most covers. This was where one normally inserted some sort of pry bar to open them up. There wasn't any light coming down through it, however. Wherever he was, it wasn't outdoors.

Ky's gaze narrowed here. He stretched out with his senses momentarily, trying to see if he could pick up any electrical impulses. Nothing. Not even machinery. That didn't bode well with him…but he ignored it. Taking a deep breath, he pushed up against the cover. He lifted it off of the hole, and then quickly shoved it to one side. It made some noise, but not nearly as much as it would have if he had merely pushed it off and let it fall to the ground. Soon after, he hoisted himself up and out of the hole, and threw himself and his feet onto the ground. He quickly stood up once there, and began to examine his surroundings.

It was dark. There were a few lights on in here, but they were far over Ky's head and on a dim setting. It was the same type of basic light that would always be on in an industrial area. Based on that, and the feeling of openness, and Ky realized that he was in some sort of complex. One that was intact, as well…or at least, this chamber was. The air in here was stale and old, but also had the scent of machine oil and grease on it. It was a fresher sort too, the kind that was used in modern times for large machinery. Most of it was dark and shadowy, however, and so Ky couldn't see much. And so, he once again drew the Thunderseal and lit it up.

The result was somewhat amazing. It was indeed a wide open internal area, one like Ky had never been in before. All around him, rusted, old, and far out of date…were machines. Large machines, at that. Most of them were cylindrical in nature, either rising out of the floor on their sides or forming some sort of cone arrays. There were considerable amounts of wires attached to them, and other devices and machinery surrounding the walls. It looked like, in its time, it had been an area of lots of activity. It stretched easily the length of a football field…perhaps even two of them, and was at least as wide as one.

Ky looked about for a moment, trying to see if there was anything here that seemed to stand out. He waved his sword over to some of the giant machines. There was dust on a lot of them, thick and old, and cobwebs had formed over much of it. However, it was only to the untrained eye that this place would appear totally unused. As Ky examined them closer…he saw that there was no dust in some areas on some devices. And the cobwebs were clear of some of them, with streaks on the floor indicating motion and air.

The officer walked about for a short while, using his sword as a torch, and examining the area. On doing so, he found more signs of recent use. Although this place had to have been closed down for centuries, someone had tried to get something out of it. Based on some of the dust layers, that in and of itself had been a long time ago, although not nearly so long as when this place had been abandoned. As to what they wanted, Ky had no idea. Most of the old technology in the world was completely alien to others. And Ky himself had never been a big student on machines. He had recognized some, but not many. Basically only things that he had to know for when he was in the service…like machines that could readily be used for survival even if they had been deactivated for decades.

However…Ky did think some of this place seemed familiar. It bore a resemblance to large turbines for areas that had been used to generate power. If that was the case, then he was inside a power plant. And one that would have had to have been used recently. That was a bit odd to Ky. From what he was aware of, most power plants in older times put out large amounts of wastes and smoke. The signature from a distance should have been obvious. This plant may have not been active over the past few days, but they should have seen it regardless, and detected a presence based on it.

Then again, other than the plant, there didn't seem to be many large electrical devices operating in this area. So why would this be needed?

"Well…look at what we have here."

Ky had snapped around and aimed the Thunderseal in the direction of the voice before he was even able to fully comprehend what it had said. Yet as soon as he was aimed in the proper direction with his sword out, he realized that the voice that had spoken to him was in Spanish. The source stood only about twenty feet away from him. Ky felt rather irritable for his lapse in judgment. By electrifying the Thunderseal, he had sent out a large electrical signature that masked his ability to pick up on other signatures sneaking up on him. However, he sensed this man now. Actually…to a bit of Ky's puzzlement…he thought he could sense _two_ signatures coming from this person…

The officer soon examined the man in more detail, and from doing so got a better grasp of who this was. He was dressed mostly in skin-tight black, but had long blond hair and a dark visor over his eyes. His look was cruel and cunning. Even staring at it unnerved Ky, although he didn't show it. He had seen this look before…usually in malevolent, psychotic serial killers. Only not ones like Baldhead. Baldhead didn't have all his wits and had become an animal. These were animals of a different sort…ones who enjoyed their work. Ky knew of one type of person that this was specific to…a person in one sort of line of work. And he had seen this face before on wanted posters as well as his briefing.

What confirmed it was something Ky saw on closer examination. The man was illuminated by the glow of the Thunderseal…but there wasn't any shadow streaming behind him.

"Zato-1." Ky stated on looking at him.

The dark man cracked a wider grin. "And judging from the fact that you know that, and Eddie can sense all that electricity around you… I'd say you were Ky Kiske. You national hero types have a habit of getting in my way, don't you?"

Ky was a bit puzzled by this phrase, but he didn't really care. None of that mattered to him, now that he had identified the man. Immediately, he shifted into his thrust position and kept his sword aimed at him.

"You're under arrest for over twenty-seven counts of first degree murder, eighteen counts of assault, eight counts of blackmail, twelve counts of extortion, ten counts of unlicensed business practices, and, currently, illegal intrustion on an IPF investigation. Surrender now or I am authorized to kill you on sight."

Zato-1 stared back for a moment at this, keeping his grin. Ky stared back, still as a statue and blue eyes as cold as ice. Both were silent

In the end, Zato-1 broke it. He burst into a laugh.

It was cruel, biting, and mocking, but Ky didn't shift in the least. He didn't even show any irritation at having his statement thrown back in his face. He continued to hold as Zato-1 trailed off with his laugh, and seemed to brush his nails against his shirt and examine them for dirt.

"You IPF boy scouts…you're all the same." He sighed. "You treat this like some cops and robbers game. That's why I enjoyed making the last five IPF agents wet their pants before I had Eddie chew their faces off. You all don't know the meaning of pain or struggle. I doubt you even know the difference between good and evil. You just run around in your little uniforms and wave your badges and expect the 'big, bad crooks' to come quietly. I've tortured and murdered before…but I always _love_ doing it to cops. Because they don't expect it. They think I'm just going to try and kill them and/or run away like a whipped puppy. They don't expect me to turn them into yet another work of art."

"I've mopped the floor with human filth like you hundreds of times." Ky stated in answer. "And this isn't a joke. You're a deranged madman and I have absolutely no problem making this world better while simultaneously sending you to your rightful prepared place in Hell. Before I give you one last chance to surrender before I take lethal force, tell me what you are doing here."

"Same thing I was trying to do yesterday before your overzealous 'grandpa' tried to stop me." Zato-1 answered. "I realized that whatever this place was, it was a lead in toward the head of this tournament. Everyone's going to be coming this way eventually. So I set up here to wait for her, in an area where I have the advantage. I don't care about your or this tournament. The only thing I want is to kill Millia Rage. She's the only one who's really a threat to me."

Ky raised an eyebrow. "…In that case, I thank you for confirming the presence of another murdering criminal. You'll both be sent to the same prison if I take you alive. Now I give you three seconds to get on your knees with your hands behind your head before I execute you."

Zato-1 flashed his teeth in response.

"Here's a better idea…I make you cry like the little teenage virgin you are behind that uniform, just like I did to everyone else before you."

With that, the dark man suddenly lunged forward and threw a punch.

Ky's eyes widened slightly a moment later as he was forced to twist his head out of the way. Although the lunge forward had only closed the distance between the two men by about five feet, some sort of ebony substance that seemed to absorb the light cast off from Ky's blade slid out, covered Zato-1's fist, and then lengthened it to form an extra-long appendage that sailed straight for Ky's face. Not only that, but Ky was just able to pick up the end of it morphing into some sort of hideous, red-eyed grimace with lots of sharp teeth. As he dodged and the thing flew by, it snapped at where Ky had been…looking hungry.

Zato-1 smiled as he reared his hand back and instantly swung out with the other fist. Now expecting it a bit, Ky was able to dodge before this one turned into a long, toothy appendage and bit for his head. Still, he barely managed to do so given its speed. As soon as Zato-1 yanked this back, he spun stretched out his hand in the process. Now, the shadow came out and turned into a long, thick length of black ooze, again with a ravenous mouth on the end. It slashed at Ky's front, and the officer was force to leap back to avoid it. The length struck the ground where he was, and with a great gnash of teeth broke out a chunk of the cement.

Ky braced himself with his sword and grit his own teeth as he went back. He remembered the briefing he had on the possibility of Zato-1 being on the island. The man was guilty of dabbling in one of the Six Forbidden Magics, and somehow he had acquired some sort of shadow entity that he had replaced his own shadow with. As a result, he could summon some sort of giant black symbiote out to do his bidding. The shadow itself could transform into any solid or semi-solid-based form that Zato-1 desired. The result made him formidable and nearly unkillable. However…Ky was certainly going to try.

As soon as Ky landed, he launched himself straight back at Zato-1, clearing the distance in an instant. However, his opponent still saw him coming. Grinning wider, he put both of his fists at his side, and began to spread his shadow over his chest region. Ky ignored this. He only summoned forth a more powerful charge into the Thunderseal as he reached the man and swung it across his pitch black chest…

A terrific sizzling sound resulted, and electricity snaked over Zato-1's body. The grin melted instantly, and the man was forced to give a cry of pain as the charge flung him off of the sword's swipe. Ky stood his ground a moment after completeing his slice, although he brought his sword back up into guard position. He watched as Zato-1, face tight with surprise and sudden pain, made his chest become solid again. He grasped it with stretched fingers, indicating his misery, and he looked up to glare at Ky with sightless eyes.

"So…looks like you don't fall for that trick…" He said with some strain in his voice, indicating his pain. He was trying to sound confident, but there was also the sound of anger underneath his tone. It surged up when he spoke again. "But let's see if lightning saves you from this."

Zato-1 removed his hand from his chest, and abruptly slammed both palms together in front of him, forming a "gun motion" with his hand. Ky braced himself for what was coming, as both of Zato-1's arms began to turn black. Moments later…far faster than before…a black pseudopod erupted forth and sailed straight for Ky's head. This time, the move was so quick that Ky had no time to dodge. He quickly cross his blade in front of him to intercept instead.

A moment later, and the black appendage impacted Ky's sword. It immediately splattered out across it as electrical energy flooded into it. However…it didn't stop there. As soon as it had come out from around the hilt, it reformed and continued to slide forward…straight for Ky's mouth.

The officer had only a split second to remember the one case report he had heard about Zato-1 filling his victim's bodies with his own black substance and then having them erupt from the inside. Immediately, he slammed his mouth shut as the black ooze impacted it.

It was horrible. It wasn't foul or rotten in any way…and yet it felt cold…hungry…numbing… The worst part, however, was that he could feel it yanking at him. It was sticking to his skin and prickling against it, like some sort of suction attack. Yet that as well wasn't all. He held for a moment…before he could feel it pushing. He could detect small tendrils coming out of the ooze and seizing his lips, trying to pry them apart, trying to get the jaw open so that it could slip in the rest of the way…

Ky realized he had to get out of this, and get out of it now. He quickly twisted the Thunderseal and swiped down, and in response he sent a jolt of electricity through the appendage as it became semi-solid to allow it to pass through. Yet this time, it didn't let go. He heard Zato-1 give a grunt of pain, but he bore through it. The blackness continued to push, and he could feel it starting to slide in between his lips no matter how hard he pressed his shut. There was only one other thing he could do…

Quickly, Ky aimed his blade right at the source of the blackness, focused his power, and then discharged a bolt of electricity. Zato-1 saw this, and quickly spread out his shadow in front of him to intercept it. However, this bolt was stronger than the shock he had received from his blade. On impacting him, Ky almost thought he heard a screech from the thing on him. Apparently, the strain to protect Zato-1, attack the captain, and withstand the pain was too much. The shadow seemed to flail as it recoiled backward, sprawling itself out in strange angles before sinking back into Zato-1.

However, it certainly didn't take long for Zato-1 to react. His smile was gone now…replaced by growing anger. Ky took a moment to recover and steady himself, and that was all Zato-1 needed to lunge at him. However, he left the shadow inside for the moment. Or perhaps it didn't want to answer him immediately from the pain… At any rate, Zato-1 was soon on him, and leapt up in the air with a spinning roundhouse kick. Ky was reminded in a painful manner that Zato-1 had extensive combat training on his dossier as well as his head was snapped to one side, and he staggered back.

Zato-1 didn't let up. He seemed actually angry that Ky had "hurt" his shadow. He lunged forward and swung his legs out again in the opposite direction, smacking Ky's head the other way and making him go back another step. After doing this, he stood his ground. He held one fist in front of him, grit his teeth, and made the blackness come forth around it again. This time, it oozed out and formed a spike. He immediately peeled back to drive it forward into Ky.

Although the blows had shaken Ky up considerably, he had taken far worse from Gears. He was only slightly dazzled by Zato-1's assault. Seeing him charging at him, Ky decided to use that. Snapping back as fast as he could, he shot forward, grasped his sword, and moved to slice upward through the assassin. Somehow he managed to see this, although his report said he was blind. He managed to stop himself just short of running into the blade. Evidently, he knew he couldn't avoid the pain from this. He yanked back just in time to have the electricity barely miss shocking him. However, Ky wasn't finished after that either. He quickly pulled one fist off of the blade while Zato-1 was still off guard and advanced on him. Moments later, and as the man was still trying to recover from his dodge and his need to suddenly change momentum, Ky came upon him and drove his fist into his face.

Zato-1's neck snapped back, and he went staggering backward. Shards of glass fell against the ground as the remains of his visor fell off of his face. However, even this move wasn't as wild as it could have been. The man was using the momentum to pull himself away from Ky. That was good on his part, or the officer would have followed up his punch with a slice. As it was, he went temporarily out of range. As he tried to get his balance, Ky himself moved his sword into the stabbing position and began to run forward, ready to deliver the killing stroke.

Unfortunately, something happened that made the officer pause a moment later. As Zato-1 tried to right himself, he turned his head up and "looked" at Ky. The officer looked right back, right into where his eyes should have been…

Ky had never seen a person like this before. If a person had one eye, usually some injury had sewn the lid shut, or the eyeball was white and dead, or, in the rare disturbing case, there was only an empty socket. Yet not so with Zato-1. There weren't any eyes there, that much was sure…but there wasn't just emptiness there either.

The _shadow_ was there. It was filling his eyes as if someone had managed to scoop up midnight and place it in his skull. It sucked up all light around it, leaving only empty pools into some black oblivion. And seeing this…Ky was forced to stop for a second.

That second, however, was all that Zato-1 needed. He was able to raise a hand soon after, make a fist with it, and then cover it with the shadow to make it a huge, clawed version of the human appendage it had once been. After that, the man swung it forward and smashed it into Ky's chest.

Ky felt his bones buckle from the force of the blow as he was thrown away from Zato-1. His eyes widened in surprise at the feeling. The shadow did more than just add mass to Zato-1's fist. It added power and strength to the swing itself. And after being hit by it, Ky nearly had the wind knocked out of him as he flew back. Yet before he hit anything or fell, he managed to stretch out his limbs and put himself in a sprawling position, halting his backward movement. After coming to a stop, he looked up and glared at Zato-1.

However, the man wasn't standing his ground this time. He was covering himself with the blackness again. This time, it grew thick on him, and molded itself into a larger chest and more muscular, taloned limbs. Two long growths erupted from the back and grew into giant, ebony wings while the face deformed into some sort of grotesque, crested, red-eyed, demon head. As it made an animal snout and blood-red eyes gleamed within the eye sockets that formed…Ky saw these eyes, not sightless and black like Zato-1's, turn and _glare_ at him with hate. After that, the thing surrounding Zato-1 gave off a snarl that reminded him of a lion…before flapping the wings once and taking off into the sky.

Ky saw this, and realized what it was trying to do. Immediately, he propped himself back up and swung his sword at the thing Zato-1 had become. Another bolt of electricity shot out, but this one was far too wild. It missed the man by a mile, sailing under his feet as he rose into the blackness. And once its light had faded…so had the shadow beast. It had vanished into the interior of the area, melting back into the darkness once again.

Ky immediately shifted his sword back into the ready position and began to look around himself. He started to extend his senses to try and pick up lightning motion. Whatever that shadow thing was, it still required mental signals of electric nature to move. He would be able to pick up on it. However…he was seriously starting to doubt that the thing attached to Zato-1 was benign. He could almost pick up another consciousness inside it…and inside him. And after seeing Zato-1's eyes, he began to wonder if the roles of controller and servant were sometimes switched...

Nothing happened for a few moments. The chamber stayed silent…and dark. Ky kept his eyes flickering about, however, and continued to wait for a signature. He hoped that Zato-1 didn't know that he could detect his neural impulses. But even if he didn't, this was not a good spot. He was in an area with lots of places to hide, and one in which his opponent bled into perfectly. He, on the other hand, was still dependent on light and needed his sword. It was strange. It was almost as if every fight he entered in was stacked against him…

Yet even as Ky thought of that…his senses registered. A flicker of intense neural activity right behind him. Immediately, he spun around and brought his blade up to guard…

He was nearly overwhelmed by what came out of the shadows. Hissing, gnashing its huge teeth, burning into his blue eyes with its own red ones, came the shadow demon. It didn't come from directly behind, but rather lunged down from overhead. Its outstretched talons were aimed right for Ky's throat, and he had barely managed to put his sword between his flesh and the creature before it connected. Even then, it threw its whole weight on top of Ky, trying to force him down and aside. It hissed and sneered, filled with rage toward its opponent…

Ky buckled under the weight for a brief moment, but then grit his teeth and reacted. With a tremendous surge of power, he threw his upper body to one side and flung out with his arms. The result managed to throw the shadow beast off and away from him. As his arms left his opponent's body, Ky swung down and out with his sword, trying to slice the monster open as he went flying off. The blade connected…but also passed through the shadowy substance. Only a hiss at being shocked again showed that the creature had sustained any damage.

Yet as it was thrown off, the thing spread out its wings and righted itself, shifting its body so that it would land feet first. On doing so, and letting itself fall the rest of the way to the ground, the shadow once again receded back into its owner. Zato-1's own furious face soon began to come back, fists at his sides and ready for more. Ky turned to face him, expecting him to spring on him at any moment or unload some move with his hands…

As a result, Ky was caught off guard yet again when Zato-1 did something else. Until now, Ky had been assuming that Zato-1 could only extend lengths of his shadow from his arms. He was rather surprised when he saw a black pseudopod suddenly lift off from Zato-1's back, and then shoot for him. Ky noticed this and managed to get his own body to move before it landed…and his own sharp reflexes, a result of his lightning abilities, made him probably the only one alive who was able to do that. But even he wasn't perfect. His shoulder was still in the way, and the pseudopod connected with it a moment later. It didn't stick this time, however. Instead…it immediately formed talons, which tore through Ky's uniform and into the soft flesh underneath before coming out the other side and hooking.

Ky had a high threshold for pain…but no one could have taken that without something. His face tightened in pain as he let out an agonized grunt from clenched teeth. He yelled at himself mentally for being so dumb. Zato-1 hadn't just scored a hit on him…he had gotten him through the shoulder with his favored arm. He even instinctively released with his left hand, and let his sword remain in his right one, the one with the injured shoulder. Yet he forced this pain back quickly, trying to think of a way out of this…

More pain soon cut off his train of thought…as Zato-1 suddenly yanked back on the black appendage. Abruptly, Ky felt himself yanked forward by his shoulder, the talons digging deeper into his flesh and locking in there like giant fishhooks. He nearly let out a mild cry himself, and struggled to keep his feet planted. Yet it was no good. Even if he wouldn't bow to the pain, the black length was more than strong enough to drag him on his feet back up to the assassin. Realizing his bad position, Ky actually raised up with his other hand to yank the talons out of his wound, no matter how costly it might be to him…

Again, he was too late. He was up to Zato-1 before that could happen, and the assassin quickly enlarged one of his fists before driving it deep into Ky's stomach. The air went rushing out of the officer's lungs, and he doubled over slightly from the power. Ky's vision turned a bit dark and his head swum. Zato-1 was attacking with incredible force…even on the level of some Gears. And after his fighting, the injury, and now this blow to the stomach, Ky's limbs were starting to get watery and his legs unsteady. He had to get out of this _now_ while he could still fight back.

Although he felt dizzy and sick, Ky forced himself to give strength to his limbs and keep going. He looked up, and though his vision was swimming he saw Zato-1 had pulled his arm back. He was forming a black spike with it…no doubt planning to drive it through him. It took Ky almost enough time to get his body ready to move before Zato-1 attacked with it, stabbing for his chest. This time, there was no stopping. Ky had to shift out of the way. Again…he barely missed it. The talons in his shoulder didn't help. The spike still managed to cut through his uniform again and scratch his side.

Ky grit his teeth again through the pain, but this latest attack woke up the rest of his senses. Now he had to strike back. However, he was too close to slice or stab, and his arm was weak anyway. Yet there was still one thing he could do. Instead of attacking directly…he twisted his wrist just enough to place the blade of his sword against Zato-1's leg…and focused his power.

Normally, Ky was invulnerable to lightning power. Yet transferring a current into Zato-1 while he was holding onto him caused a feedback loop in his system, and so the officer himself received a painful shock…perhaps one more powerful than Zato-1's. However, it didn't matter. Zato-1 still felt the pain too, and he was the one who bent his head back and cried out in agony. The charge between the two of them also proceeded to shove them away from each other. Since Zato-1 was no longer able to maintain his form when being electrocuted, his talons uncurled, allowing Ky to come off of them. A moment later, and both men flew away from each other before spilling to the ground. Neither one managed to stay standing this time.

However, almost just as quickly, both were back on their feet again. Both opponents were visibly sweating now, and starting to show strain. Yet they kept coming. Zato-1, the more ferocious of the two, immediately turned both of his hands into spikes and sprung for Ky. The officer in response raised his sword up in both hands, ignoring the pain in his bleeding shoulder, and swiped down to deflect the first thrust, and then swung around and smacked the other away for the next. Zato-1 didn't let up, but continued to advance and stab with both of his shadow weapons. Ky backed off, but also continued to deflect each hit as they meleed for a short moment…

Yet Ky managed to catch something during this exchange. He saw that Zato-1's shadow was once again peeling off of him and going to the ground… He continued to battle, but kept this in mind as he went along.

Suddenly, after parrying one of Zato-1's spikes, the shadow abruptly formed a pseudopod and lunged for Ky's leg. Quickly, the officer stepped back out of the way just as the blackness snaked out and attempted to hook his appendage. Quickly, the captain swung the sword down at the blackness…realizing too late he had made a mistake. He mistook it for any other limb that could be cut off. His sword did move down, and it did sink through the black material as he swiped his sword through it. But once there…the material became rigid and held. Suddenly, Ky felt a powerful grip on the end of his weapon. And his shoulder was too injured to hang on. Before he could do anything else, the blackness ripped the sword out of his hand and flung it away. It smacked into one of the cylinders and held. With the lightning gone, the room once again plunged into near blackness.

For the briefest second, Ky panicked. The fight had turned against him in a bad way. His enemy was already blind. The darkness was nothing to him. He himself had lost both his weapon and his vision. The sudden loss of light rendered him especially vulnerable. It would take time for his eyes to readjust to what light was still in the chamber. It seemed all over...

However…Ky refused to die or give up. He was fighting for the good cause. Zato-1 was the evil murderer. He couldn't stop now. He had to try…try and pray for God to grant him victory.

And so, just before Zato-1 could smile and mock Ky again…the officer lunged into action in an unorthodox attack. He leveled his shoulder forward and charged straight at Zato-1. Luckily, his planning worked out. At this point, even Zato-1 was starting to tire, and wasn't able to respond as fast as normal. Apparently, so was his "assistant". An instant later, and the shoulder smashed into Zato-1's body. Ky didn't stop, but ripped him off of his feet and charged back as far and fast as he could until he reached an electrical console. Once there…he smashed Zato-1's body into it as hard as he could. The man was so caught off guard by it that he wasn't able to protect his chest. Ky heard a crunch from inside of it.

Not letting up, Ky quickly leaned back, seized him by the lapel with his bad hand, and began to smash his good fist into his body. He smacked his head aside once…twice…gave him a blow to the body…and then smashed his own head into his nose. Another breaking sound rang out…this time bone.

Ky was about to strike again…when he hesitated. He could see that he was managing to win, despite the overwhelming odds at this point. He was beating Zato-1 up and breaking bones, keeping him from fighting back as he pummeled him. And yet…he also saw what he was doing. He was attacking like a savage animal…like a wild man. Like some common thug on the street would beat an innocent to death. He wasn't like that. He fought clean and properly, with honor and dignity. If he was going to win…he didn't want to win like this. It was too uncouth...too barbaric. But then again…what choice did he have…?

This moment of hesitation, however, came at a bad time. Although he had managed to beat his opponent rather badly, the worst thing he had done was make him mad. Although Ky couldn't see it, the blackness sprung off from the back of Zato-1's bleeding body and formed a large demon head. Sneering and barring its teeth, it smashed its huge head down and into Ky's. It dug in its teeth as it did, opening another gash across the man's brow. Ky himself staggered back from the blow, which felt like a ton of bricks against his skull.

He only went a short distance before a black appendage lashed out and laced around his body. Again, the numbing, biting feeling went through Ky's chest as he was ripped back, flung around, and smashed into the same console that he had thrown Zato-1 into a moment earlier. Though the pain that resulted was agonizing, he managed to twist up to avoid his head being smashed. The appendage soon yanked him back off of the wall, however, snapping his body violently as it did so, before swinging him around to smash him into the console on the opposite side.

This side especially hurt…because as Ky was thrown into it he smashed into a series of levers that dug into his back. However…it also had a beneficial side effect. He must have hit something crucial when he was slammed into the levers, for one of them shifted into position. In response…an enormous thunk was heard throughout the chamber, followed by a sharp, high pitched whine that traveled throughout the building. After that happened…the main lights to the chamber, long since darkened, all of the sudden began to flicker and come on.

As Ky slumped to the ground, he managed to weakly look up and around him for a moment. He saw that the large cylinders in front of him were starting to spin as the lights fired up. The room was soon being illuminated by pale white light, and he could see the entire large chamber, and all of the cylinders and circular devices it was filled with. On seeing it…Ky realized that he had to be right. It had been a power station. And Zato-1 had just triggered him to turn it back on.

Luckily, Zato-1 might not have been able to see the light, but the sharp noise made him hesitate. Using a quick backward rolling motion, Ky pulled himself back and out of the black appendage, which had gone flaccid in the brief respite. Unfortunately, the moment he did that, part of the shadow on Zato-1 seemed to lift off of his head and form the demon face again. It turned and saw what had happened, and immediately snarled in rage. A moment later, and Zato-1 spun over to it as well. It was crazy. It seemed that as Zato-1 got more tired and beaten…the shadow entity seemed to be more distinct from him…like its personality wasn't being suppressed as much…

Ky couldn't worry about that. He quickly looked for his weapon…and to his irritation found that it was stuck in one of the large cylinder machines on the other side of Zato-1. There was no way he was going to get to it through him. Yet he wasn't going to charge at Zato-1 with his fists again. Even if he would be that uncouth once more…it wouldn't matter. That shadow thing was seeming to grow impatient with Zato-1's control. It was separating from him and staying active, tracking him with its own red eyes. Ky looked around himself a bit more, wanting to see anything that could be a weapon…

The only thing he could spot was a metal lever protruding from near the console. It looked rusted and weak, and he could probably rip it out and use it. But what was he supposed to do with that? At least his own sword electrocuted Zato-1…

_Then again…perhaps there is still one hope…_

Quickly, the officer moved toward the lever. Zato-1 was already moving toward him when he reached it. Once he was there, he reached down and seized it, twisting it in the process. He sweat a bit when he saw it didn't come out initially or as easily as he thought, but at the price of letting Zato-1 get two steps closer he wrenched it harder…and was rewarded with a snapping of rusted metal.

Ky looked up, and saw that Zato-1 was raising his limbs at him. There wasn't much time. It was too late to attack. And so, he quickly began to go around him, taking the lever with him, and making sure that he stood in between Zato-1 and one of the large humming cylinders in the area…

Moments later…and the attack came. Both of Zato-1's arms morphed into tentacles and shot out to wrap around Ky's neck. The horrible feeling once again registered as the shadow touched him, but it didn't just grab him. It also shoved him backward…right into the horizontal humming cylinder. It slammed his body against it as hard as possible, putting Ky into considerable pain, before tightening around his neck. Ky held the metal lever, now more of a rod, in one hand while clutching at his throat with the other, but it didn't improve the situation much. He couldn't get the tentacles off although they stayed solid.

Yet he wasn't choked. Instead, as the owner of the appendages got closer, he felt claws begin to emerge from the blackness. They started to crawl up the sides of his head, and as they did each claw dug itself into his flesh. It kept this up until it managed to crawl all the way up the sides of his head, digging in talons all the way.

It wasn't until Ky was in this position, struggling against the grip, that Zato-1 himself got in close. His face was covered in blood…his eyes were black…his look was a mixture of hate and glee…and that demon head was hovering above his shoulder, glaring at him ravenously. He came in close until he was standing right in front of him. Once there, panting and sweaty, and yet stretching out his own body over Ky ominously, he grit his teeth and glared at him like he would any of his victims. Immediately, the talons began to pull. Ky soon realized he intended to rip his head in half.

Bloody teeth grinned.

"You mind tell me something…hero?" He gasped between his split lips. "As I stand here…about to rip the flesh off of your skull…what does it feel like? How much terror am I filling you with right now?"

Ky quickly calculated around himself. He looked to Zato-1…and then to the monster's head that hovered next to it. He'd only have one shot at this. He stretched out his senses and found where the main source of power was coming from the cylinder…and how close it was to his head. When he did that, he quickly grasped the rod, and prepared to slice out with it…

"Probably not so much as you will be filled with in a few minutes…" Ky responded coldly through his partially crushed throat. "When you greet the devil face to face."

Charging the rod with as much electricity as he could muster, Ky raised his free arm, lashed it around, and thrust the metal pole in at an angle...shoving it through its mouth and into its "head".

The bloodthirsty eyes of the thing seemed to actually widen as well as it gagged. It was unable to roar in pain as new electricity snaked through its body, but the edges of its shadow once again melted and thrashed about wildly as it snapped it head back. Ky didn't let it writhe in pain much, however. It still had a hold of his throat…and if anything was digging its nails into his flesh to rip faster. This wasn't the Thunderseal, and he couldn't channel his magic through it nearly as effectively. Yet he did get loose enough to turn…and that was what he did. Still piercing the monster through the head, he spun he body around and drove the end of the rod the rest of the way through the head…before piercing it hard and deep into the main electrical circuit that ran through the generator.

Ky felt a powerful shock that even he couldn't fully negate, and once more he was thrown away from the point of electrocution. But that was nothing compared to what Zato-1 suddenly felt. Mighty as he was with the power of lightning magic, Ky didn't generate at full power a blast nearly as strong as that of this plant. And now, the deadly energy was rippling through both Zato-1's beast and the assassin himself. Zato-1 let out a horrible scream as his body went rigid. The monster itself turned into a horrid blob, snaking about and thrashing madly, shooting out claws to rip into the floor or tear away at lights.

Ky landed on the ground a moment later, and slid a bit farther away. He was aching and in pain from both the shock and the hit as well as earlier injuries…but he didn't stop. He lay there only a moment before he grit his teeth and forced himself to keep moving. As Zato-1 continued to fry, he pushed himself onto his feet, ignored his dizziness, and rushed over to his blade, still stuck in the other cylinder machine. Once he reached it, he quickly ripped it out and turned around to Zato-1, expecting him to come off and attack him again.

Instead…Ky was slightly mortified at what he saw.

Ky couldn't really describe what it was. It wasn't until months later that he was fully convinced he didn't imagine it in part. Why it happened was a mystery. All he could assume was that the shadow beast had been weakened to a degree. It was still solid when Ky pierced it to the conduit, and once it was shocked it must have lost its ability to become completely "unsolid". Because of that, the monster was anchored to the electricity and continued to fry. And Zato-1, bound to the beast, was unable to free himself.

Yet the most horrifying thing of all was the fact that Zato-1 was still able to move…and he was trying desperately to free himself from the monster. Yet it was no good. You can't lose your own shadow, after all. Even more disturbing, however, was as that as Ky saw Zato-1 madly try to save himself from the demon he had taken on willingly…was that the monster, with what physicality it had managed to retain, wasn't trying to extract itself…but to _cling_ to Zato-1. To keep him from getting away. It wasn't to kill him so much, it seemed…as to save itself. As if it would die if it got away from the assassin… And because of this, Zato-1 was ultimately unable to save himself from the same abomination that he had wanted so badly…to the thing that he thought made him a god.

The rod that held him was already weak and rusted. It didn't take long for the current to become too much for it. It deformed and then broke. When it finally did, Zato-1's body…smoldering and burned…clothing flaking off in places (particularly where the shadow had been touching)…collapsed to the ground. The sizzling stopped, and the body stopped thrashing around. The scent of burning flesh was in the air. The shadow, now free from its torture, maybe moved its now flaccid and drooping face once before it melted. The rest of the body turned into thin liquid and collapsed to the ground. Once there, it soaked back into the skin of the assassin, and vanished completely. All that was left was a body lying on the ground, shadowless and smoking. It didn't move or breathe.

Ky stayed prepared for a moment, expecting another attack. However, his senses picked up nothing. There were no further electronic impulses from the man. The fight was finally over.

The officer paused a second longer, but then straightened himself up. He took in a deep breath, and began to level the Thunderseal over his shoulder as he powered it down.

"Justice is-"

"WAAAARGH!"

Ky wasn't sure if it was a man or a monster making that cry…only that it was inhuman. He also was certain that he sensed a sudden rush of electricity through Zato-1's body, from a desperate urge to live and attack. Like a man possessed…Ky saw Zato-1 suddenly seem to leap off of the ground and into the air. Face full of fury, eyeless sockets leaking blood, mouth burned and full of blood-covered teeth, and body tight with fury…the assassin surged at him like a rabid wolf, dying and yet desperate to make one final fatal lunge. All vestiges of humanity or reason were gone. Just the psychotic animal that Zato-1 truly was underneath his sheath of flesh remained and went for one final kill.

Ky gaped at this for a moment, aghast as the abomination that the man had made himself, and actually frozen in a hint of fear.

But then, Ky's eyes narrowed and his own teeth clenched. Feeling filled with righteous passion, he raised up the Thunderseal and powered it up one more time. Then, as Zato-1 came down on him, he shot forward at the same time…and plunged it through his heart all the way to the hilt.

Blood splattered out behind the man, seeming to erupt from the raw power that Ky had fatally stabbed him. The slightest sound of a gag came out from Zato-1's mouth, before his body sank and became dead weight on the end of Ky's blade. As gravity made him lower, Ky spun to the side and threw him off of the end. The rest of Zato-1's momentum ripped him back off of the blade and made him hit the ground. He slid a few inches, but then came to a stop. His blood freely flowed from the wound in his chest.

Ky looked back down and lost his hardness. He panted a bit, and wiped at his brow. It looked like that monster had failed him one last time, by not coming to his aide in this suicidal charge. Either that, or Zato-1 had been too far out of it. He should have known it was suicide to charge at him without using the shadow for protection. And somehow…he had a feeling the shadow had known it too. So what then? Why would it let him charge like that? It would be like the shadow _wanted_ Zato-1 to die…

Ky didn't know…and couldn't think about it. He was bleeding and needed to tie off his wounds. He needed to hobble back to camp, patch himself up, and then get back out here. He was in no shape to continue. He also had to make his latest report back to the IPF. It appeared that they would be taking another name off of their Ten Most Wanted List.

Looking one last time at the still-smoking, bleeding body of Zato-1, Ky cleaned off his blade, inhaled, and exhaled.

"Served." He finished.

* * *

The pale fist of Testament tightened thirty minutes later, when he was standing over the bleeding body of Zato-1. His teeth clenched in growing anger. 

"You're destroying all my best candidates, Ky Kiske. _You_ had better be a suitable replacement."

* * *

It wasn't until two hours after both Ky and Testament had forgotten about Zato-1 and dismissed him as dead…when something else began to try out his limbs for the first time.

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: Saints and Sinners...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: SPOILER ALERT

I'm expecting the most negative feedback for this chapter. As you probably have already noticed, this is where the personality that is Zato-1 "dies". The way in which I got rid of him is markedly different from the versions presented in the game. I thought of having Eddie take Zato-1 over while the assassin was still conscious, but I couldn't think of a good way to write it in without making Zato-1 inexplicably leave the tournament. I decided on a battle instead, in the end.

But in that case, I'm sure a lot of fans are probably angry that Millia isn't the one who killed Zato-1. Well...I'm trying to handle this story in somewhat of a tournament bracket. I already know who are the three people I want to go on to the next round...and one of them isn't Millia. If I would have put Millia up against Zato-1, I would have had to have one winner or a draw. One final thing is that although I feel that Millia should be the one to finish off Zato-1/Eddie, I don't want to have the idea of "two Final Climatic Battles", seeing as Millia would fight Zato-1/Eddie again in the "next game" because Eddie takes him over, and Millia still feels the responsibility to kill him. All I can say is that if I ever do a fanfiction of Guilty Gear X, there will definitely be a final showdown between Millia and Eddie.

I hope Sol fans enjoy the next chapter. It's the first one I'm finally doing from his perspective.


	18. Saints and Sinners

**"Saints and Sinners"**

* * *

_Come with me. We'll revel in the destruction. We'll bathe in blood. It's what we were born to do._

Out of the thousands of things that had been said to Sol Badguy in his long life, these four sentences burned in his mind more than anything. They haunted him sometimes. He would wake up sweating, hearing them ringing through his head. And every time he did, he would do much the same thing that he did right now. He would tighten his headband and then go about his business.

It was the last sentence that always frightened Sol more than anything. Of course, that didn't mean he had any desire inside him to do the rest of it. No…there had never been some voice in the back of his head telling him to take her up on her offer. But the last sentence…the thought that this might be why he existed…that frightened him. At the end of the day, what were you truly if you didn't do what you were meant to do? Were you just a maverick of sorts? Or were you screwing up some natural order? Were you dooming yourself if you did so?

Contrary to what Sol had told Kliff, or rather hadn't told him, this was what he had been doing for the most part for the past few years. Thinking about what she had said to him. Wondering what his true nature was at the end of the day. It was all well and good to say that one chose their own destiny. But if that was the case…then how come he hadn't truly felt happy in his decades of life? How come he always felt like a restless wanderer? But then again…what would he do if this was the price of feeling at peace? If this was what he had to do to be "complete"?

Sol pushed this out of his mind as he continued to walk. He didn't have time for this. And he didn't need to be thinking about that now. Something far worse was going on right here…something that he had feared for over five years.

While Kliff may have thought that he was just pulling ideas out to make some story that still needed concrete evidence, Sol had reason to fear that what he was theorizing was in fact the truth. He, more than anyone else alive on Earth, probably had good reason to fear it. Because he understood the Gears more than anyone else did…more than anyone else could hope to. Naturally, he would never tell anyone why. If he did, then Ky Kiske would be the least of his problems. It wouldn't matter what he felt regarding his nature to this world…the world would only see one nature.

Yet again, that was irrelevant. What he had to do now was find the host of the tournament. He had no idea who he or she might be, but Sol was taking his or her threats very seriously. And he was afraid that the host knew things that he didn't, especially how to break the seal that was put up. Although Sol had no basis for it yet, he had put two and two together to figure out how powerful warriors being defeated could lead to the seal being broken. And if he was right about that, then every fighter defeated on this island, including ones he put down, would increase their chances of destruction and disaster. He was almost tempted to abandon his search for the host and to look for Ky. He knew it would be quite a violent battle, but he would at least know the truth. Then perhaps both he and Ky could get off the island if they needed to…before it was too late…

Sol didn't mention any of these things to Kliff. He had to choose his words carefully around him now. He needed to tell him many things so that he could help him out, but at the same time he couldn't tell him too much without getting him to ask more questions. And there were a lot of secrets that Sol could not expose to him or to anyone else. He knew that the result was that he was expecting Kliff to go on a lot of faith, but again, there was no choice. He only hoped he still trusted him. He also hoped that the canal he had picked for him to check out led to a dead end, while Sol's canal led him to the host.

Bright and early, Sol had set out for one locale while Kliff set out for the other one. Both were a few miles away and began in forested areas, but they were freshly dug and had to have been installed recently. Once Sol had reached his, he began to follow it downstream, toward where the water was being diverted.

As it turned out, only the first mile or so of the trip was out in the open. After that, it opened into some sort of underground tunnel. Based on how the tunnel was shaped, Sol reasoned that some of the old subway system might have been converted to allow the water to flow in more. It made sense. Less work for one person to do all by themselves. It worked out too. The water flowed where the trains had used to move. The lips on the sides for people to pass through were easy to move along and through.

The first mile or so was dark, but after that Sol saw something rather new. Electrical lighting that was still functional. Not much, mind you. Just a few bulbs scattered in the darkness with lots of space in between each one. It provided illumination, however, and that was all that Sol really cared about as he continued down the pathway. His senses were sharp, and his ability to detect heat managed to recognize anyone who might try to ambush him in darkness. But he still preferred to have light around him as he moved along.

There weren't many branch points along the canal. In a few spaces, the concrete lip was worn down in tunnels (ones where people hadn't been able to move in the past), and so he had to get a bit wet in those spots. All in all, however, it was a straightforward trip. It was a bit unusual to see tree roots starting to break through the ceiling. In some spots, it was almost like some sort of horror story, almost…seeing hundreds of small tendrils dangling down overhead and hanging over the subway below. Yet Sol knew better, and kept on walking.

There didn't seem to be too many immediate signs on his path of trouble or civilization. Other than the lights, there was little indication that anyone had been there. There was still a lot of dust on the ground, and the water had already attracted rats and who knew what else to start fishing around the area, looking for scraps to eat. They all scurried off as Sol grew near, however. They probably would have done so anyway for anyone…but from Sol they seemed to move a bit faster.

Sol had a good grasp on the power of fire, and so he extended his own influence to try and sense incoming heat signatures. Each little rat and rodent had their own, of course, but he was looking for man-sized ones. Of course, he realized that this might be futile. Whoever his opponent was…he or she had managed to mask his or her own heat signature in some way. That was something that Sol had not heard of before. All Gears, after all, ran essentially on the same metabolism as all other living things. However, cold blooded creatures could "slip under his radar", so to speak. And there was the chance that this might be some type of new Gear that could negate it.

He had to keep his wits about him as he walked along. He was in a tunnel area, and was confined instead of in front and behind him. And he had to be a ways under the ground as well. He was wandering into territory that could be hostile. He had failed to sense the ninja yesterday. Part of it was his own carelessness. Part of it was that the ninja was able to suppress his own body heat to a small degree to make himself less conspicuous. Yet he couldn't afford another mistake like that. The ninja hadn't been much of an opponent, but there was no telling what he would run into next…

Only a few minutes later, as Sol was still thinking in a similar vein, it turned out that he would be running into something very soon.

Sol had been moving quietly until now, but he stopped regardless. A large heat mass was up ahead, about humanoid sized and generating similar amounts of temperature. However…this one was also dimmer than normal. If this had been anywhere else in the world, Sol might have mistaken it for some large, warm piece of machinery. Yet since there were so few power sources down here, he immediately played it safe and assumed it was someone. Someone skilled too…for they were able to keep it so low. Seeing as it wasn't moving either, Sol realized that they had to be lying in wait, perhaps much as the ninja had yesterday.

Sol narrowed his gaze and thought for a moment. Standing around wouldn't accomplish anything, and there was no way around. The body was up at the next junction point. Regardless of what he did, he was going to run into this form. He thought a bit longer about how was best to proceed, and finally reached a decision. Once he did, he began to slowly walk forward once again. He kept his pace as quiet as possible, yet stopped short of trying to stay silent or sneak up on the person.

The man walked forward for a few hundred feet more, slipping into the more exact range of the individual. His senses began to pick up more details from the specifics of sources of body heat. In doing so, he was able to reason that this person was likely a woman between the ages of twenty and forty. She was in excellent physical condition and, based on how well she was controlling her own body heat, had to be rather skilled and trained in some sort of martial technique. Perhaps better than the one he had ran into yesterday…

Sol also looked on with his true eyes, and kept doing so until he reached some forty feet from the junction lip. Around the corner and back a bit, the woman was hiding. She hadn't moved, and so she likely assumed that he didn't know she was there. That would soon change. He came to a halt at this point, and kept his eyes around the corner. He stood straight and tall, and drew on his own size and power.

"…I know you're there." He shouted out. His voice echoed loudly throughout the entire canal area. "Come out now."

There wasn't an immediate response. Sol's voice echoed throughout the tunnel, and very slowly faded out. However…there was nothing else. Sol detected a slight elevation in body temperature from the person, who had obviously not suspected to be called out like this, but then it calmed down once again. There was no movement. Sol waited for a few moments, but still nothing. Obviously, this person assumed he was bluffing, or that she had made a noise and was now playing silent so that he would think he had just imagined things.

Sol didn't move forward. Instead, he called out again, this time drawing on the small signatures of heat he could detect.

"You're about twenty feet away from the edge, hiding against a wall in the old turnstile area, waiting for me to come up on you. You're almost directly under one light bulb. I know where you are. You're not fooling me by staying silent. Come out."

The temperature change was far more extreme this time. Now, Sol realized he had truly surprised her. There was no mistaking that he knew where she was now, and that he had somehow spotted her. A few more moments passed in which nothing happened. But then…he finally detected the heat mass moving. It was standing up and coming out. Sol waited patiently, not shifting, and looked ahead around the corner to see what would be coming.

A moment later, and she emerged. If Sol had more area in his brain to devote to pursuing the opposite sex, he might have found her to be rather lovely. She was dressed mostly in white and blue that covered lots of exposed flesh. It was a fashion style common in Russia. However, her legs were still exposed between her tall boots and her skirt-like top. She was blond, blue-eyed, and of a good build, shapely to the eyes for most men. However, Sol could see more than this. Most of her form was hidden underneath her clothes, but from what he could see her muscles were tight and toned…far more than what one could get from going to the gym. And her eyes and face were colder than the iciest Russian winter. There was no joy or merriment or softness within them. The soul behind those eyes had long since turned hard from the brutality of life and the death of a conscience…although hers didn't appear to be nearly as dead as that of some people's. She might have something of a soul inside her that could one day be saved… At any rate, her stare was hard and her face was locked up even harder as she stared at Sol. She came to a stop and planted her own feet, digging into the pavement.

"Alright…I came out." She flatly stated, her voice in English but her accent a thick Russian. "Now you have thirty seconds to get out of here before I kill you."

"You're the one who needs to leave here immediately." Sol simply answered, not at all put off by this phrase. "You're being hunted."

"Tell me something I don't know." The woman nearly snapped back. "Twenty-five seconds left."

"Listen to me." Sol answered. "The host is doing something to the people who lose the tournament. He or she might even be killing them."

"Then it's a very good thing I don't intend to lose." The woman answered. "Twenty."

Sol paused for a moment after hearing this. His gaze narrowed on the woman, and he tried to guess something from these responses…

"…Why are you wanting to stay so badly that you would risk death?"

"Because death will trail me to this tournament, away from it, and wherever I go. I'd rather settle it here and now where no one will know. Thirteen seconds." The woman answered quickly.

Sol, however, raised his eyebrow at this.

"…So I suppose you're either the head of the Assassin Syndicate, or the one who's come to kill him or her."

This actually seemed to surprise the woman. She didn't appear to be ready for this kind of response, and her cold demeanor actually thawed a bit. However, she froze back up soon after.

"Even if I am…that's hardly any of your concern. Your only concern is that you are facing a woman who can kill you rather quickly and brutally. I've got enough blood on my conscience without killing another fool participant in this tournament who only cares about wealth and wishes. But I'm not going to let you ruin any trap I'm setting up for him. You have five seconds left to get out of here before I attack. And I won't give you a chance to throw anything unusual at me. I'll do it with lethal force."

Sol remained silent and stood his ground. He didn't bother trying to argue anymore. After all…it was pointless at this point. He had realized that. It made him sigh inwardly to think about that. He didn't want to get into another meaningless battle. However, this woman was obviously obsessed with getting revenge or blood. He wasn't going to talk her out of it. And seeing as she was likely an assassin, death did not scare her. And neither did the thought that she would kill anyone else. That meant that, in the end, there was only one alternative left for the both of them. The host's little tournament would continue for another step.

The woman seemed to get angrier that Sol wasn't taking her threat seriously. She nearly barred her teeth when the time finally expired.

"Alright…you asked for it."

What happened next gave Sol his first feeling of genuine surprise since he had battled Justice. Suddenly, some thin strong cord seemed to lash around his legs and give a sharp tug. Before he knew it, he was spilling back with his feet pulled out from underneath him. His mouth managed to stay closed, maintaining his stoic expression, but he looked down to see what had done it.

Just barely, he noticed something he hadn't sensed at all earlier. There were tiny strands covering the floor of the subway area. Each one was fine and golden, but also incredibly strong. Not only that…but he now saw that each one extended back toward the woman…toward the long golden ponytail she had behind her. Somehow, it had become a living rope that had gone around his legs, lashed them, and then yanked him to the floor.

Sol immediately remembered the briefing. He had heard something about these assassins studying the Six Forbidden Magics. Based on how he was being attacked…Sol reasoned that this one had studied "Angra". She had used it to bring her hair to life. If that was the case…then this wasn't going to be an open-and-shut battle by any means.

Sol quickly thrust his legs out to the side, ripping the strand of hair that had held them bound. It was a good thing too…for the woman was moving on him. As he had been falling, she had rushed up to deliver another attack. She was to him by the time he broke the strands. Quickly, Sol flipped backward and rolled in a somersault out of the way. Just as he dodged, the woman formed a heel and delivered an ax kick to where his head had been. The result dented the concrete beneath her. Sol was nearly surprised for the second time since he had battled Justice.

Quickly, the man stood up and got to his feet. An instant later, however, he had to duck. The woman wasn't letting up. Attacking with speed, ferocity, and poise, she crossed her arms in front of her in a battle gesture, and then snapped her neck at him. Her hair responded by lengthening instantly into a long, thick coil. It was obviously a pretty hard one too. Sol reasoned this after he ducked under it…for it smashed into the wall at the side of the subway and cracked the stonework that was there. A moment later, and it pulled back, reformed into a sharper object, and then lunged forward and overhead to try and pierce Sol from above. Again, he was forced to dodge, this time by leaping back slightly, or get pounded by the hair.

Keeping her arms crossed in front of her, the woman lashed out with her hair again. This time, she made it form a hard, bludgeoning end, but whipped it in front of her in a storm. The result was a hail of blows in Sol's direction, similar to a "hundred-hand-slap" maneuver of some Eastern martial arts masters, only much faster and more punishing. Sol dodged the first two, letting his own lightning reflexes and senses pick up on them. However, after that…he decided to launch an attack of his own.

Sol leapt back slightly, letting the hair smack at the air in front of him uselessly for a few strokes, and then lunged forward. However, he didn't head straight for the woman. Instead, he leapt at her legs. The series of blows that the woman was doing were aimed at the head and upper torso, and she no doubt didn't expect her opponent to move so fast or unexpected. Hence, her eyes were slightly widened when Sol launched his attack. A moment later, and his body reached her legs and tackled her at them. The woman let out a small exhale as her body was unbalanced. Her hair, uncontrolled now, rapidly went limp and shrank back to its original size.

A second after that, and Sol twisted his body down and threw the woman against the stone ground. She landed hard on her back, and gave out another small cry. She sprawled out and formed a pained face. Sol was still on top of her at this point, and wasn't about to let up. He wanted to end this quickly. He had never fought a person with this sort of power before, and he wasn't sure what exactly they could do. He stopped only to position himself over her, and then prepared to give her a hard enough punch to end the fight…

Yet as he brought his fist down…her hair suddenly went back to life. The ponytail twisted back over her face without her moving it, and immediately split in two. One branch of it knocked Sol's hand away. The other became solid, and smashed in his face instead.

The blow was strong and smacked into Sol's head like steel. He was surprised. He didn't think he had ever been hit that hard by a human before. The impact ripped him back onto his feet and made him stagger backward. He actually felt sore after taking it. Yet after stumbling back a few feet, he managed to plant himself again. He looked back down to the woman. She turned out to be remarkably resilient as well. She was snapping her back and flipping back onto her feet again. Realizing that he could still be struck from this close, Sol quickly backed away.

Once he was at a distance he felt was safe enough, Sol stood his ground and watched the woman. As for her, as soon as she was back on her feet, she crossed her arms in front of her and let her ponytail dangle in front of her face. Typical. It was the equivalent of holding a sword or other weapon in front of you in her case. However, the two sides paused here. The woman seemed to be studying him, and Sol was waiting for her to make the first move. After a moment…Sol decided something unconventional. He began to talk again.

"…Who is this shadow of death that is so terrible that you'd risk certain doom to kill it?"

"None of your business." The woman answered, and immediately snapped out a lock of hair at him.

Sol shifted his position, and the hair cracked like a whip just to the side of his nose. It looked like it might have been able to rip it off had it connected. However, the woman pulled her hair back quickly enough, and he quickly went back into his old position.

"I think it is…seeing as I only wished to warn you and you decided to fight me rather than take my advice." Sol responded.

The woman grit her teeth, and simply lashed out with her hair again. This time, she swept it at the side, making for a hooking move of some sort. Sol had an idea of what she was trying. And so…he went with it. He extended an arm as if to block, and waited for the hair to connect with it. It both stung and hurt when it collided, but it also proceeded to wrap around his outstretched limb. After coiling around it a few times, it hardened and pulled tight. Sol realized what would happen. She was planning to reel him in or smash him around by this.

As a result…he surprised her yet again when he dug his feet into the ground and yanked back himself. With a snap, the woman suddenly was ripped off of her own feet and sent flying toward him, sprawled out and flailing as she came. Sol drug her only close enough to get into hitting range. Once he did, he loosened up and let her land on her feet right in front of him. Her hair was loosening around his arm at this point, but luckily "Angra" was physical based. The hair couldn't immediately disengage itself from where it was. Sol had plenty of time to drive his fist forward toward her face…

Unfortunately, the unusualness of the fight had caught Sol off guard, and made him forget the woman still had four limbs. She swung out one and deflected his blow…and then made him suffer for his lapse in judgment by driving her other gloved fist into his throat. A smarting pain went out as his windpipe was crushed, and Sol's eyes widened slightly as he let out a gag. The woman didn't stop, but brought her fist back and forward again, this time smashing it into Sol's face. His head snapped back as a result. After backing up only slightly, the woman leapt into the air and gave him a double kick under his chin, snapping his head back further. Pain was actually starting to register in Sol's senses again…

The woman landed afterward, snapped around, and swirled to give Sol a roundhouse kick. Unfortunately for her, she had just finished freeing her hair at this point…and in doing so had freed Sol's other arm as well. As the foot headed for Sol's face, despite his seeming pain and stunned expression, he managed to lift up one arm rather quickly and intercept the blow. His arm immediately became like steel, and he felt nothing and barely any resistance in blocking the woman's blow. Again, the woman was surprised to see her hit stopped so quickly. Yet more unfortunate news for her…for now Sol was finally able to drive his fist forward into her face. Her head went snapping back, but he didn't stop there. After punching her, he quickly bent his arm inward and swung in with the same appendage…forming an elbow and smacking the woman upside her already dazzled skull with even more force.

The woman staggered back quite a few steps from these two small blows. Her limbs flailed out as she stumbled. She struggled to do something with her hair, but it only formed strange, formless strands that weakly went in front of her. Yet after she had gone back a few feet…Sol saw her true quality. The woman suddenly planted her legs, snapped her arms back into ready position, and steadied herself instantly. Her hair shrank back into a ponytail that danced in front of her face, and she was once again ready for battle. Only now, she had a few bruises on one side of her head, and her blue eyes burned with some anger at Sol.

The man was honestly impressed. He had actually tried to knock her out with those last two blows. And yet she was still standing, barely looking dazed…

"You're pretty good to be able to still stand there after those punches." The woman announced to him. "And since I'm getting tired of you wanting to know so bad, very well. My name is Millia Rage. I'm the one who betrayed the Assassin Syndicate and sealed Zato-1, its leader, into a dimensional prison several years ago. He's broken out and he wants my blood. I plan to kill him like I should have after our last meeting."

"Why?" Sol immediately answered.

"Because he's a sick bastard and needs to die more than anyone he's killed." Millia answered, and then attacked once again.

Once again, Millia snapped her head forward and lashed out a lock of her hair. This time, it was a rather long one in the form of a spike. Sol saw it coming easily, however. It seemed to be moving slower than it should have been. Perhaps the woman was trying to go easier on him, and didn't truly want to kill him after all… He quickly bent his body backward and let the spike sail harmlessly overhead.

Again, he realized he was thinking too basically. Millia made it easy to dodge on purpose…because she didn't intend to hit him with that. As she made one strand of her hair attack him in that manner, another lock of hair went down and lashed around his ankle. She immediately retracted the spike as soon as Sol dodged under it, and then gave a powerful yank with her other lock. Thanks to his awkward position, Sol was unable to keep himself from being ripped backward and off of his feet. Yet the hair didn't stop there. It quickly showed its surprising power as it yanked him into the air, over Millia's body, and behind her again…where it smashed him down against the ground. More pain went through Sol's body from the powerful blow. Most other people, he realized, would have been killed by that.

Yet before he could think of anything else, Millia yanked him back up, pulled him back through the air, and smashed him down onto the ground in front of her. She pulled back and did it again behind her, hitting him so hard that the pavement broke. Each blow filled him with more pain, and Sol started to realize that he was going to be in a world of hurt if he let this continue. Even as he thought this, Millia snapped back on her hair again. Once more, she yanked him into the air and began to bring him back overhead…

But as she did it this time…Sol reacted. While his body appeared to be lifelessly sprawled and sailing over her own body…he suddenly came to life. Forming two fists, he swung both down and lightly smashed them against either side of Millia's head, making sure to box the ears. The woman cried out in true pain now, and her hair went limp again. She raised her own hands to the side of her skull and grasped it in agony. As for Sol, the momentum from her hair allowed him to sail over just enough to get in front of Millia before he landed. He touched down on his feet and made his hands into fists again, examining the woman. She was lucky, actually. He pulled his punches. He could have fractured her skull.

Still, Sol wanted to end this. He drove another fist forward and smashed it underneath Millia's torso. His limb sunk in, and she let out a rush of air as she doubled over. He had hoped that the blow would break a few ribs and drain Millia of what fight was left in her. He was surprised when he heard nothing, and saw no reaction other than her doubling over. He was even more surprised, however…when, despite her position and pain, she managed to turn her hair once again into a solid heavy object, and swung it around to smash into Sol's face. The blow was so strong that he wasn't just ripped off of his feet and sent back. Blood leaked from his nostrils once it left him.

Sol's feet were limp for a moment before he got enough bearings to put them underneath his body and steady himself. Stumbling a bit, he managed to get steady and stand his ground. He raised a hand to wipe the blood away from his nose as he looked up to Millia. The woman herself recovered amazingly quickly, seeming to snap her body back up, become solid again, and then once more go into the position for combat.

"What makes him so sick?" Sol calmly asked from his location.

Millia's teeth grit again. "Are you trying to get me to wear myself out from talking or something? He's a monster. He rips his targets apart and eats them for the fun of it. He tortures them and makes them suffer before he kills him. He enjoys it. To him, killing all of these people is some sort of art form. He's a sadistic psychopathic bastard who needs to get put out of his misery, especially since he got his hands on that Eddie thing he carries around attached to him. He kills people in unnamable ways with that thing…doing things that aren't natural or human."

Sol's face didn't alter when he heard all of this.

"…Is that all?" He finally asked when Millia finished.

The woman's battle stance nearly broke. Her face actually loosened completely. She hadn't expected that kind of answer from this man. But before she could try to wonder what this was supposed to mean, he continued.

"You painted a very horrifying picture, yes. But you talked only of the ways in which he killed his victims. You didn't refer to him killing them in and of themselves…which is what I know you have been doing with your own career. I'm sure Zato-1 gave these people plenty of unspeakable misery in their last few minutes of life. But what about their families? Their children? Their friends? The impact they made on the world, for good or ill? They were all once innocent babies, irregardless of whether they grew to become criminals or thugs later in life. But it seems that the only difference between him and you is that he saw his victims as 'art', as you put it. Both of you shattered one life after another for money, never questioning the morality or wrongness of what you were doing. You caused a ripple effect of sadness and anguish throughout countless other lives by each one you destroyed. He used these people to fill his sadistic joy, seeing them as instruments of pleasure. But you…you wouldn't even dignify them with that. You had to create a system whereby they became faceless, inanimate objects to destroy. Are you so vain and egotistical to think that you are a judge of who deserves to live or die, or even that there is such a way to kill a person 'correctly', so as to avoid destroying everything they were and had the potential to be?"

Millia's face was frozen in surprise for most of this. And it was obvious that a lot of Sol's words were sinking into her, attacking her with thoughts that she had probably never tried to encourage in herself. However…Sol also expected what would happen next. As is the initial case with many people who hear what they don't want to hear…her face began to grow angry when he started telling her that she was in, some ways, worse than the one she hunted.

"Shut up!"

The woman's hair suddenly broke into a spiral of sorts, and began to encircle Millia's body, forming some sort of tornado of hair as she did so. Once she did that, she began to charge for the man once again. Sol exhaled a bit at the thought and prepared for a fight. The woman kept closing until she was in leaping range…and then suddenly took off, launched herself into the air, and sailed straight for Sol.

The man was powerless to dodge a barrage like this. His face was smashed about three times by the swirling coils of hair before Millia kicked out with a foot and added another one of her own blows. The four happened in such rapid speed that the momentum of each hit was practically added together…and Sol was once again thrown back and off of his feet. This time, he let the momentum carry him further back, getting more distance between himself and Millia before it let him go and dropped him to the ground. When that happened, he quickly twisted his feet underneath him and caught himself, stopping in a squat, and looked back up toward the woman again.

She was still livid with anger, and was charging for him again. The spiral was still thrashing about her. The blows from that move had hurt…and Sol realized that he couldn't take a beating much more from this. However, he was a bit low on moves remaining as well. Perhaps he would have to actually get out the Fireseal…

Yet before doing that…he once again moved crude. He launched himself off of his feet, arms outstretched, and sailed straight for Millia as she charged at him. Soon they collided. Sol's body was battered for a few seconds as swinging locks of hair smacked him again and again. Yet he grit his teeth through it all and kept coming. As he let himself get beaten, he lashed out with his own arms and hands…and seized her hair. His grip was still strong and formidable, and despite getting hit by her attacks he managed to hold it. He soon went with the spiral and used it to lash her hair around his arms. Millia seemed to notice this, and swung out with her arms for Sol's face. However…he surprised her again, this time by twisting the arms holding her hair up and around, wrapping them around her own incoming blows…stopping her with her own hair.

Before Millia could recover from this surprise and kick him again, Sol continued.

"Do you know why you truly were enraged at Zato-1's killing? It was because he showed you what you were doing. You weren't upset so much at his brutality as the thought that you might not be much better than him. You were so quick and 'clean' at the subject of death that you were able to keep from thinking that your victims were ever people in the first place. Just 'jobs'. But when you saw someone making them suffer you were forced to experience some of the pain and misery that comes with death. That's why you really are willing to risk death to stop him. Your own conscience is convicting you so long as he lives. You need to go against him to try and prove to yourself that you are, in some way, more 'righteous' than him. That you can say that you're different from him."

"You don't know a damn thing about it!" Millia snapped back.

"You've told me all that I needed to know." Sol responded, still calm. "It make have taken years of murders, but something inside you has changed to make you think that your job truly was as evil and wrong as the world said it was."

"People die all the time!" Millia retorted…finally taking the defensive. "What does just a few others matter? Especially people like the ones I killed! Ones who deserved to die!"

"If you truly believed that, you would never have disliked what Zato-1 was doing in the first place. Or am I to believe that you're a woman so blind that she thinks that a few minutes of pain are less than the lasting pain and hurt that is caused by the loss of life itself? No…your eyelids are being forced open to your crimes at long last. What's left of your conscience is manifesting itself. But you still refuse to accept that you and Zato-1 are the same being in the grand scheme of things. You refuse to see the innate wrongness of what both of you freely did. And because you refuse to acknowledge your own sin, it's rotting you away from the inside. I've known you for only a few minutes and I can see it. I can see the icy, hollow look in your eyes. And can see a face cold and hard against the world. You've been surviving for the past few years, but you haven't been living. You've only been wandering around trying to figure out how you can both give up killing for a living and thinking that it might have been wrong. You've been a bleak, depressed soul without aim or purpose, wondering why you can't find your place in the world that you were once so sure of."

Now…Millia completely stopped. Her feet were poised to kick Sol, but there was no longer any power in them. Her hair was loosening around Sol's limbs, actually starting to grow soft and slide back. As for her cold, blue eyes…they were beginning to melt. Her expression was turning softer. Like some sort of relaxant, Sol's words were breaking her cold exterior. Yes, Sol had only known this woman for a few minutes. But he knew her just the same. He had been alive long enough to know much about human nature and the way their hearts and minds worked. He knew that what he said was true.

"You're not worthy of finishing him off." Sol flatly stated after a pause. "Not now. You need to learn the value of life…starting with your own. Then maybe you will be one day."

Millia's face stayed soft. Her eyes actually looked away. Her mouth opened slightly, and she was hesitant. For a brief moment, Sol hoped that she would do it. Hoped that she would take his words to heart and let them change her. Get out of here while she still could.

But in the end…the woman's mouth clamped shut, and she looked back up to Sol, her eyes hard again…although not so icy.

"I'm sorry…but I still have to kill him." She stated, her tone firm…but also much more genial. "It's not just what you said. I _made_ him."

With that, Millia launched up into a flip kick. Her hair slipped off of Sol the rest of the way, but it didn't matter. He was more than close enough to take both blows to the chin. This time, he himself had relaxed so much that he had hoped Millia would stand down. As it was, he was unprepared when the feet connected under his jaw and sent him flying backward yet again. He was unable to brace himself this time around, and so it was involuntary when he was cast back across the hall and sent to the concrete. This time, he slid a moment before he managed to flip around and stand up.

Once Sol was back on his feet and in position, he looked back to Millia. The woman was once again wrapping her hair around her in a vortex and coming for him. He sighed at the thought. He still had a lot of juice left, but he was getting tired of being beaten around. This fight could take forever if he didn't stop soon. And he didn't like the idea of being in a place where he could potentially be monitored so easily. He didn't want whoever the host was to know he was coming. Because of that…he decided that enough was enough. It was time to end the battle.

With that in mind…Sol reached behind him and, for the first time he had tied it to his body two days ago, grasped the handle of the Fireseal.

The moment he had it, he channeled his own inner power over flame into the blade. In a burst of fire, the bandage wrappings that surrounded it ignited, and immediately fell off in blackened strips. Sol drew the now naked blade and put it before him.

The handle was made of black metal with a rounded end and some sort of jewel in the center, one that reacted to heat and served to focus the energy coming from Sol. The blade itself was long, rectangular, but also deadly and sharp, honed to an atom edge. The hilt was a cast-iron alloy resistant to heat, with vents above it reminiscent of some sort of engine. This let out excessive heat and fire. It began to pump it out now as Sol began to charge the blade with his own flaming energy. Once he brought his other arm around and grasped the handle, he leapt to his feet and charged straight for Millia.

The woman was a bit surprised to see this sword, which was now smoking and rippling with heat. She was even more surprised to realize that Sol had only pulled out this weapon now…meaning it had to have a lot more power than him alone. As he came in and she prepared herself for battle…she noticed one last thing. She recognized the shape of the blade and its construction…a kind she had witnessed in many other sources praising the ultimate weapons known in the world. On seeing it…the rest of her memory clicked…as she knew who was the current owner of the weapon.

"You're…"

That was all she was able to get out before Sol was on her.

Three times was all the Fireseal needed to move. Millia never even was able to attack. His first slash cut through the vortex. At this point, Millia had hardened her hair to have the same constitution and power as tempered steel. The Fireseal, blazing with heat, cut right through it as if it was tissue paper. Flaming, smoldering locks flew from around her body. Still moving forward, Sol made his next slash. This one went over Millia's head, and sliced at the ponytail holding what locks were still connected to her body. One more slash, and fire broke out both on her scalp and over it from Sol's attack. Her weapon was gone, and now the hair around her was useless for defense. Because of that…there was nothing stopping Sol from inflicting his final blow…bringing the Fireseal down heavy across her body and slashing her from her shoulder to the opposite hip.

Millia's eyes went wide as her face paled. A fountain of her blood erupted from the front of her and cascaded around Sol, mixing with the heat to make him look like some sort of infernal creature of power and fury. Her limbs went limp. Her arms and legs sprawled out. Her mouth hung open as the trauma became too much for her to withstand. Millia's consciousness faded as she collapsed to the ground in a lifeless heap. Blood stained most of her white and blue clothing now, and a large smoldering slice accented where she had been cut. Her hair, still flaming and producing a foul stench, collapsed around her and lay in motionless piles. Millia's breathing became very light as she lost all strength in her body. She moved no more.

Sol stood there in his final position of victory, looking down over Millia's fallen form. He continued to hold the Fireseal out, which continued to burn with its deadly power. However, he soon cut off the blaze, and the sword became normal again. He kept it out, however. He had burned through his sheath in doing that, and he had to fashion a new one. But that would be after he took care of this woman.

Sol had never intended to kill her. Even that final blow was planned out like a surgical incision. He had sliced through her in such a way as to spill just enough blood to render her unconscious. All of her major organs and vital points were quite intact, and the heat from the blade had seared her wounds closed as soon as they let out just the right amount of blood Sol needed. She'd be fine in a week…perhaps even a few days if she was as strong as she indicated. However, Sol knew that the woman was truly in danger only now. She had lost the battle to him. Whoever the host was, he would be coming for her soon.

With that in mind, Sol crouched down next to the body, and balanced his sword against the concrete. He looked like he planned to be there for a while. Once the host came for Millia, he would get his answers. Of course…by now, he reasoned that someone might just be monitoring him from a distance, and wouldn't come so long as he was guarding his opponent. If that was the case…then so be it. Dangerous as the woman was, she wouldn't be able to fight for a good two days. He could take her back to where he and Kliff were meeting without risking her doing anything to them while they slept. He had a feeling that this woman wouldn't realize that he had just done her a favor…

_Tzzt!_

Sol immediately shot to his feet and turned around to the sound that had just been made. It wasn't just to the surprising noise, however…it was due to detecting a sudden increase in heat. It was small, but it was more than significant.

As he turned to the source, he spotted what had made it. Something was sparking and flaming up along one of the walls behind the old turntiles. Bits of charred debris were raining down. However, all of it was tiny. It hadn't been one of the light fixtures. That meant that it had to have been some device that had been placed there by the host, but that it had just gone off. It was a bit impressive. Sol wouldn't have even suspected it was there if it hadn't gone off. Even sitting in the silence, waiting for a new enemy, he hadn't been able to pick up on a heat signature that…

_…Oh no._

Even as Sol thought of this, he heard it. However…_what_ he heard was something that few people could identify. There weren't many alive who had heard it before…and had lived to tell someone else what it was like. But it suddenly sounded as if some giant blade, very dull and jagged, had suddenly began to tear something. What it was tearing seemed impossible to describe. It sounded like the air itself…only more. It was as if the molecules around Sol were breaking…like something was actually tearing reality itself apart.

Sol snapped around to the source immediately…and saw it.

He had barely managed to turn in time. What he saw was something that most people would think they had hallucinated or dreamed…or more appropriately, had a nightmare of. But right behind him, right next to Millia…reality had _torn_ open. It was as if the whole world was some sort of quilt or fabric that had just been ripped. It was almost like a cartoon, when one of the characters eludes a cat or dog by cutting a hole in the very film of the cartoon and hides in a rip behind it. Only this wasn't a cartoon. It was reality…

Sol managed to see the very tip of a red, sharp blade dip back into the hole…before a strong, toned, snow white hand lashed out and seized Millia by her still smoldering hair and scalp. The unconscious woman was unable to fight back…as whatever was on the other side exerted incredible force and yanked her into the rip.

Sol was distracted twice. At first…he thought to cut the pale hand off. But the owner was moving too quickly, and the hand was already inside before he could bring up the Fireseal. His next impulse was to lash out and seize Millia by the leg, for whoever was capturing her had already drug half of her body into the rip. Yet as he moved to do it…he saw that the rip was already closing again, as if reality didn't like its natural order tampered with and was sealing up its own hole as soon as it was made. That actually wasn't far from the truth. Sol knew these "rifts" only lasted a couple of seconds. He also knew that if you were caught halfway in and out when one closed…the result was not pretty, not only for your body but for your consciousness. Gritting his teeth…Sol pulled his hand back and let Millia be taken. He couldn't grab her without risking her being caught in the rift when it closed. Whoever was on the other side didn't hesitate, but quickly pulled her in the rest of the way. The last of her boots vanished as the rift slammed shut, and soon Sol was once again alone in the subway, shrouded in silence.

The man looked to where the rift had been, and his teeth relaxed as he glared at it. He was a bit angry at having lost Millia. He had no desire to see her die…but now she would share the fate of that ninja he defeated yesterday, whatever it might be. However…many more things were now coming to mind.

To confirm it, Sol turned back to where the explosion had happened. He quickly pulled the Fireseal up to his side and ran over to it. The turnstiles had broken long ago, and Sol was free to run toward the area of the debris without impediment. In a few moments, he was next to the smoldering fragments lying on the ground. Quickly, he dropped himself into a crouch and examined them.

There wasn't much left. A few wires…the barest bits of a case… However, Sol saw something else. A wire that was some sort of transmitter, and a lens array. That confirmed what it was. Technology this sophisticated was out of the realm for most humans, but it was a spy camera. A small one, but one that had to have been watching his entire fight with Millia.

The story immediately became clear. The host…likely the person with the white hand…had watched their fight until this point. But once Sol had won and decided to wait for him to come and seize the body, the host must have realized that he had a flaw in his plan. Yet he also just proved that he had an interesting little ability…the ability to make small tesseracts so that he could reach out and seize something, like a fallen opponent. The only problem was, if he did it while Sol was looking, he might have been able to save her. So he had to sacrifice one of his spy cameras to distract him long enough to do the deed.

Sol was right. They were being monitored. However…what had happened confirmed a second thing. That ability that he had just witnessed involved the capability to use highly advanced magic, well beyond human level, to generate small dimensional rifts. He had seen it used in combat before. It was a good way to get you quickly into battle, or to strike an unexpected blow. It was a highly demanding technique, and usually one could only cut open a rift long enough for one move before it slammed shut again, forcing the person to take cover. A typical user wouldn't be able to perform the technique again for the rest of the day. Yet like he had thought before…only a very advanced magic user could pull it off.

Specifically…only the _Gears_ had ever pulled it off.

The host was indeed a Gear.

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: War Horse...


	19. War Horse

**"War Horse"**

* * *

_Well…it seems I stand corrected. Here I thought he was going to try and ditch me…_

Kliff had been rather cranky this morning, thinking that Sol was trying to brush him off, when he pointed the direction to one of the canals. To Kliff, it looked farther away and less likely to be used, and he began to assume that he was being sent on a wild goose chase while Sol went after the real deal. He nearly followed after Sol and ignored it…but in the last moment he decided that if it truly was the way to the host of this tournament, then Sol would be rather pissed to see that he had wasted his time following him instead. In the end, he bit the bullet and went for it.

Kliff had to wander his way through a considerable amount of forest before getting there. Forests didn't set well with him. Give him a nice urban jungle any day. Forests could have snags and vines and mosquitoes (why couldn't those damn things have gone extinct during the war?) and all sorts of other critters that made him miserable. And he had to hike through the forest for a good three hours before he got to the location that Sol had described. All in all, he was thoroughly grumpy by the time he finally began to walk up on the canal.

Sol was likely right about this one, at any rate. The canal seemed freshly dug, and didn't have a cement lining like professional ones of the older days did. And it did seem to be channeling water inland and closer to the center of the island. So at the bare minimum, it met the criterion for _not_ being a wild goose chase. With that in mind, Kliff tried to stay optimistic and started to go down it.

It took about a mile before the canal went into a new area, a storm sewer system from old England. It made sense to him. After all, why dig the whole canal if you could use some existing systems? Of course, this made a bit of a problem. The storm sewer system ahead was flooded. There was no way to walk through it. And it was descending underground as well, so there was no way to walk alongside it. The only way to go on was to actually get into the water itself. Kliff was a fairly good swimmer even at this age, but he still didn't relish the idea of trying to lug his sword all the way down that passage. He had no idea how deep it would get. In the end, he found an alternate solution. He managed to find a large, old, plastic bottle in the vicinity that was airtight. Using that as a sort of floatation device, he leapt into the water.

The current was swift, and quickly took him down the chamber. It wasn't long before he was plunged into darkness, and the light from the entrance faded far behind him. After that, he traveled along for quite a while in black wetness. The water was rather cold, and after a long time Kliff was beginning to wonder if jumping into this strange area was a good idea. He sensed that he must have gone about a mile or two when he began to wonder if there was an end to this tunnel, or a way to escape if trouble came.

As Kliff was beginning to think about getting out, however, lights began to appear up ahead. After traveling "downstream" a bit longer, he began to see some light. It was inside what looked like some sort of junction area where the canal stopped being just a drain and widened out into something else. The light was pale and industrial, but Kliff immediately brightened up on seeing it. It wasn't just the fact that there was a chance to get out up ahead where it widened, but the fact that he was actually seeing light. That indicated someone was using the place…

Kliff only drifted forward a bit more before he emerged. Really, this place was only a bit wider of a sewer. Here, however, there were platforms built into the sides for people to emerge on, ones that led to doors that led deeper in toward where the water was flowing. This must have been some sort of station to cut off the flow or monitor progress. It didn't really matter. All that really mattered was that Kliff was able to drift forward until he reached the side, and then flip his massive sword over and into the wall to act as an anchor.

Soon, Kliff had pulled himself up onto the edge and walked onward. There was an old, rusted metal door up ahead that probably led into some sort of technical area. However, it seemed to be functional. Kliff tested it, and was indeed able to open it. No locks to worry about. It wouldn't have mattered to him and his sword, but apparently whoever planned this tournament didn't think anyone would leap into the canal and go this far. And so, he pushed open the door and walked inside.

Immediately, his surroundings changed. Where before had been inside an old, concrete and metal sewer, this new area was some place far more "rough". The short corridor that he entered into had a smooth floor, but the hallway itself was hewn out of rock. Something was leaking or spraying on it too, for it was covered with water. The industrial lights in here had been installed not too long ago as well, and were the basic cord-extensions and caged lightbulb format. That design had been retained in areas where magical lighting wasn't practical or available. Most of the area was still dark even with them. Just up ahead, the corridor ended and opened into a larger, more open chamber. Kliff couldn't see much due to darkness, but he did see that it shifted into a catwalk at that point, and was likely suspended above ground. He also heard a lot of running water. With that in mind, he moved to the end of the hall and looked around.

Kliff was a bit amazed at what he saw. He was in an immense area tunneled out of rock. It was gigantic. An airship could easily fit in this area. It was all freshly tunneled too. It had to have been made sometime in the last year or so. The catwalk that he was currently on extended over part of the area before bending back and going across it, extending to the opposite wall of the chamber. There were numerous large devices there, all seeming to be for monitoring or controls, and beyond it was another pathway that led onward into some new rock corridor hewn into the ground.

However, the thing that stood out the most by far was all involved with the water. Kliff now saw that the canal that he had observed before now was channeled to run into a thin slot and come out at high pressure from a rather large valve. The water itself was hooked up to massive machines…turbines, Kliff believed they were called. Most of them were set up in some sort of sequence extending down and below the catwalk, across the vast hollowed out area. About ten were set up to one another. The water was made to flow through them all, turning each one continuously, before running out into some other channel that led somewhere else…perhaps an underwater reservoir or a channel back to the main source. That part didn't really matter. What did matter was what the water was doing. It was acting as a source of fuel, and turning the turbines…generating electricity.

Kliff crossed his arms and gave a smug look at the sight. Pretty impressive work. Looks like whoever was here was able to channel the water into giving him power. And since there was no irrigation or governmental authorities to worry about here, he could take water in from whatever source was available and power a hydroelectric plant. He wasn't sure if this little area itself with ten turbines could generate the type of power that he needed to do all that he had carried out so far, but Kliff was sure it helped.

This was definitely something. All of the machinery was fairly new and had to have been built recently. He knew he had to be on the right track. Hopefully the target wasn't going to be too much farther. With that in mind, he began to take off across the catwalk and head toward the opposite side.

Kliff didn't have to worry about haunting, solitary echoes in here. The rushing water was a pleasant sound, and masked all others. Of course, he still kept his senses alert for an ambush. He remembered what Sol had said yesterday, and he wasn't in the mood for someone to try and job him. On crossing to the other side, he set foot on rock again. He turned and began to go for the rock corridor, but as he did he turned and looked to the sides at the machines. Many of them were measuring voltage or various aspects of the turbine performance, indicating that they were indeed supposed to be for generating power. But he soon passed these by and went on to the rock corridor. He passed inside and soon began to make his way through.

It took a while to get through this one. The cool sensation was a bit welcome, but Kliff was starting to tense up more. If he had made it this far, then he realized that he had to be wandering farther and farther into the heart of this whole operation. He remembered what Sol had told him, and how it meant that there was good reason to believe that the head of this tournament wasn't much of a fighter. However, there was no sense in taking any chances.

Kliff reached another metal door soon after. This one also was unlocked, and opened easily. It opened into a brand new area…one that made Kliff pause for a moment.

The lighting here had changed to a pale green. And the corridors were no longer made out of concrete or from rock. They were made of metal. But it wasn't like corridors that Kliff was used to. Designs that were prevalent in the human world were based off of straight and perpendicular angles. This one was circular in all respects. The area he moved into appeared to be a long, cylindrical tunnel. The upper half of it appeared to be the upper half of a cylinder, but the floor was given a far sharper arc so that it was nearly flat. It spanned out quite a ways, giving a large area of room to move around in inside the corridor itself, to say nothing of going down it. All over it were designs that Kliff didn't think were mere decoration. They were bizarre and intricate…but from his limited knowledge of machines seemed to be analogous to things that people used to control pressure, water, and electricity. They lined the corridor and went up and down it. Kliff turned his head to either side, and saw that both ways stretched on for some distance.

Seeing this technology made Kliff stiffen a bit. He found himself going quieter and moving more slowly as he stepped out into the corridor. His enthusiasm faded a bit as he realized what this was to a degree. He had made his way through and around several large Gear weapons during the war. Gears didn't use angles and edges. Justice had a thing against it…thought it was imitating human culture too much. That was why it was nothing to him to destroy all traces of human settlement and replace them with structures they preferred. Gears designed in circles and arcs.

At the least, this was Gear technology.

At worst…Sol's suspicions were true.

Kliff began to wonder how he would do against a Gear nowadays. The fight with Zato-1 had proven that he wasn't quite as good as he used to be, although how much so was still in dispute. If it was a low level Gear he could probably handle it. Maybe even a medium. But anything higher?

Kliff pushed that out of his head. He didn't need to worry about this yet. He still had no proof. And this might confirm some of Sol's suspicions in a good way. This corridor might run throughout the island, allowing the host to move anywhere secretly. The whole thing might just be an abandoned Gear base. After all, the revolt started on England, right?

_This is where it all began…_

The old man looked down in either direction. As far as he could tell, the way on his right probably led right back to the canal. That meant the other way would take him closer to the center. With that in mind, he took in another deep breath, turned, and began to walk that way.

Soon, it was silence and isolation all over again as Kliff made his way down the long corridor. It was dark and uninhabited down here, and the green lights that shone up everywhere seemed positively unnatural. They weren't in fixtures like the previous ones had been. These ones were tucked behind strange enclaves in the pipes and circuits along the walls. None of them could be clearly seen…and in a place as bizarre as this, it almost looked like some strange source was making them. Each one of Kliff's footsteps echoed loud and long…longer than normal, in fact. It was an effect of the area. The Gears built it this way. They were able to walk as silent as ghosts, so making these echo was a sure way to alert them to a human intrusion. Kliff truly didn't like it.

The corridor stretched on for a long time. It wasn't helping that Kliff couldn't see the end of it. It was designed to wind ever so slightly, but in doing so always put the same limit on what you could see ahead. You were forever rounding a bend and yet never seeming to get to the other side. It was rather unsettling indeed. Not only that, but the air seemed to get cooler as Kliff went on, and the lights started to get dimmer as he continued down the path.

Before the events began that would put Kliff on a non-stop journey toward destiny…he noted one final change starting in the corridor. Something else was rising from the walls. It looked like roots or something, as if some sort of plant was reaching down this far. Kliff thought it was indicative of the fact that they couldn't be that far underground. However…he also noticed that the roots seemed to be running down the corridor, in the direction he was headed. He followed a bit longer and kept his eyes on it, waiting to see what would change.

Kliff walked forward a bit longer…but then halted. As he rounded the bend, something finally came into view.

Something was definitely more appropriate than "someone". Whoever this person was, he was _huge_. Kliff may have been almost a fairy-tale dwarf to some people, but this guy was a real world, fairy tale, and wherever else you wanted it giant. He wasn't just tall…although he had to be at least seven feet, and possibly eight. Kliff couldn't really tell because he was seated. His legs merely looked like human muscular ones. However, his upper torso was ripped with huge muscles that looked like large rocks had been stuffed under his skin. His head was small by comparison and seemed offset, almost rising out of his upper torso rather than sitting above it.

Kliff recognized the model of gauntlets that he was wearing. It was a weapon of Zepp issue, special charging gloves that quadrupled your punching power. It was reserved only for grunts large enough to tear people up with their bare hands normally, and this guy certainly fit that bill. He was dressed simply otherwise, with some dirty, older clothing, and a large metallic collar with what looked almost like charges or detonators around it. Kliff also took note of his bronzed skin, and a large black barcode tattoo written on it near his shoulder… That was all Kliff needed to know.

_The Zepp Super Soldier…and a slave soldier, by the looks of it._

_Damn…what are they feeding their slaves up there?_

Kliff hesitated for a moment. The man's head was turned to the ground. He didn't look like he knew he had gone in…but that was a foolish thought. There was no way that the hulk hadn't heard him walking in, not with how much it was echoing. And no matter how much muscle he might have, Kliff doubted that Zepp would have sent in a deaf unit. He had to have not simply regarded him as worth his time yet. Big surprise. He was small enough to crush most men like origami… Even if he hadn't heard him, then what? Did he just run in and chop the guy's head off? It sounded bad…but what choice did he have. If the guy was from Zepp, he was likely ordered to kill everyone in his way. It would come down to a fight in the end…and frankly Kliff didn't relish the idea of going toe to toe with this behemoth. Still…something in him didn't jibe well with just running up and killing him. And even if it didn't…who knew that this giant wasn't just sitting there _waiting_ for him to do just that? His arms had a good reach, and he might be able to make one fatal counter strike…

_You can't stand here all day, Kliff. Make a move._

The old man sighed to himself. He wasn't sure what exactly this would accomplish, other than lose the element of surprise. But maybe it would give him an idea of his intentions. He likely was here to fight, and Kliff didn't know if he could talk him out of this, but he could give it a try.

Drawing in a deep breath and feeling like he was taking a baseball bat to a bee's nest, Kliff yelled out in the rough, Zepp language.

"Hey you!"

The colossus turned his head within his body of rocky muscle, and looked over to Kliff. The old man resisted getting the feeling of loss of bladder control at long last after so many years. The hulk's eyes gazed out and met Kliff's. In the next moment, Kliff expected a hundred things. Those eyes would turn to anger and he'd get up to flatten them. They'd recognize who he was and would turn into fear and he'd bolt…or to respect and he might actually want an autograph. Most likely…they would look for a vital bone to break…

So it was a bit surprising when the giant simply turned away and looked back to where he had been staring before.

Kliff's look turned somewhat puzzled, not sure what to make of this. He could assume that he was doing this on purpose, trying to look innocent and benign, and then would spring on him as soon as he was close enough. However, that was a foolish thought, and Kliff understood human nature too well after fighting as a general for so many decades. The man was ignoring him…or at least trying to. Perhaps he was simply wishing he wasn't there…

Kliff hesitated a bit longer, but then called out again. "Hello?"

"…Please go away."

A response that time. Just as Kliff expected, the accent was thick Zepp. Few people outside of Zepp actually spoke the language, but Kliff had taken pains to learn it along with most other main languages spoken on Earth. Usually, you couldn't afford to get interpreters everywhere you try to garner underground support. And it always helped connect with locals better. However, given his situation, it didn't help much.

Kliff could get very little from this response…but its tone made it look as if the hulk wasn't planning on attacking anytime soon. He eased up slightly.

"Zepp sent you here to get the host of the tournament, didn't they?"

The giant sat still and didn't answer.

"I'm not working for a government." Kliff responded. "We're on the same side. We both want him-"

"I highly doubt that, old gentleman." The giant cut off in his own huge voice, using a term that people of Zepp used to regard more elderly with respect. "Even if you don't work for a government, it's unlikely that you want my people to get control of the weapon systems in this facility. And that is their only true concern. As for the host, his life will expire once he had shared his secrets with our High Administrator. I am to present him alive to my government."

Kliff stood back and held after hearing that. The large man didn't make any other movements. He just sat on the floor and continued to stare. After a while, the old man raised an eyebrow.

"…I don't think you're going to complete your mission anytime soon just sitting there. Have you thought freedom was a better option?"

The giant snorted. "Freedom is never an option so long as I wear this." He gestured to the collar.

"Then why not complete the mission?"

The hulk hesitated for a moment. He drew his head up, and looked out into space. Thoughts seemed to run through his head, as if he was considering something. In the end, he let out a sigh, and bowed it again slightly. He gave a shrug, and then looked over to Kliff fully.

"Why not? I don't really care who knows at this point. I made a deal with the officer I report to. I complete this mission, I get my family's freedom." The huge giant paused again. He swallowed. His eyes went down and his demeanor sank.

"My wife…she is sick. That place is poison to all who live there. My child…she will never survive in the factories, and even if she could I don't want to watch her torture herself to death to live in them. It was hell for me, and I'm a gigas among men."

Kliff listened to all of this. However…it didn't really seem so much as an explanation…as the giant talking to himself, as if trying to justify himself…

The massive man gestured a sword-handle-sized finger behind him. "I know the host is just ahead. Truly…I found him by accident. I was lying on the ground…trying to forget what happened yesterday…" His tone dipped in volume a bit here. "When I heard the machines. The huge machines that ran on the water. I found a hatch that led down. I got myself here…but I could go no farther."

"Why not?" Kliff asked, showing genuine interest now.

The huge man swallowed. His head bowed a bit again as he exhaled. Big as he was, a tremor seemed to come through him.

"…I killed a girl."

Kliff stayed silent, but grew puzzled as to what that statement meant.

"I don't know why she was here. I don't know what she wanted." The giant continued, his voice somber and his eyes low. "All I knew was that she said she was going to the tournament. The one word in her language I knew…and it was tournament." He swallowed here, seeming more downcast and growing choked up. "I had to fight her. The only way I could think of drawing the host out was to win the tournament. But she was strong…far stronger than she should have been. I have bruises on my bones now from where she struck me. In the end, my temper flared…and I hit her with enough force to shatter a tank."

Kliff kept quiet. The hulk's eyes closed, and more sadness painted his face. He swallowed, inhaled, and then spoke again.

"After it was over…after I knocked her into oblivion…I started thinking. I thought of how strong she was despite being so little. And I thought of my own daughter…thought how she might one day have her father's strength and her mother's frame. But then…I thought of facing her. I thought of seeing her one day as old as that girl…and I thought that the price of freedom would be to destroy a mere child.

"And I started thinking beyond that. How many people have I left fatherless? Motherless? Childless? I've fought in dozens of combat missions now. I've killed…and it doesn't matter if they were going to kill me. _I've killed._ The people on this island…the competitors… Who are they? Good people? Bad people? People greedy for money or hoping for a cure for a sick grandparent? And I…I could think only of myself and my family. I killed them without another thought. I used to think that I was different from my government. But when I so blindly followed orders…"

Kliff hesitated as the giant trailed off. He was definitely fixated on him now…and feeling a bit sad as well. He had to deal with morality of life and death all the time in his long years of command. Seeing this now reminded him of twelve-year-olds who had to kill or be killed, or desperate men who enlisted in the army because the rest of their family had been killed in unspeakable ways. But most of all…it reminded him of what Sol had said the other day to him…got him thinking about…

_Do you ever pity them?_

"You did as you had to do. You had no choice." Kliff tried to reassure.

The hulk didn't change.

"…I once believed that, old gentleman. I used to think that they could always just blow my head off and get others to do my job for me. But I am not responsible for others. I am only responsible for myself and my own decisions. And in the end, I could have spared dozens of people at least a few more days…weeks of life…if only I had refused. Whose life is truly worth more? What have I ever done to change the world? What have I done except further the cause of a corrupt regime?

"And now…here I sit. Ahead of me is my target. I called in back to base. The general claims he has my family secured. They'll be released if I carry on with the mission. If I don't…this general may just 'punish' me by killing them. Even if I don't…they'll send in a team now. Once I fail to report in one hour, they'll send in their own team to finish the job. And once they have this 'host' and his technology…then what? How many will they kill with it? How many more like me will they enslave? What manner of disaster have I unleashed on this world because I couldn't see past myself, my wife, and my child?"

Kliff couldn't answer this. He didn't know what to answer. The man was posing some difficult questions. And he was right…it was a dilemma. There was trouble for him, his family, and the world as well in store for whatever decision he made. And now, he had the guilt of a girl's life on his chest. Even this giant didn't seem strong enough to bear all of that together. Nevertheless…Kliff pitied this man. And he didn't blame him. It wasn't because what he had been doing had indeed been the right thing. Oh no…there were many pious, upstanding citizens out there who would turn their noses, look down, and chastise this man, telling him, "_I_ certainly wouldn't have done that." But what Kliff found out in the end about most of these people is they had never been in the same situation. Kliff could honestly say he wouldn't know what he would do. He had never had a family to look out after…except for that brief time…

All that Kliff did know was that you couldn't blame yourself for that. In this life, no one "gets and A on their first exam". It's full of mistakes. You live and learn. It would only truly be tragic or disturbing if this giant never saw any reason to change or rethink in his entire life. Even something as bad as he described had to be reconciled and moved past. If not for his sake…then for his family's sake. He might not be able to ever look his child in the eye again, but he had to try. Because she still needed to grow up. And she still needed someone to teach her to be a better person who could avoid the same mistakes the previous generation had made. And quite frankly…_no one_ deserved to rot and waste what life they had slaving on that sthole flying around the planet.

But…this was a hole. Any way he looked at it, the people of Zepp were going to come in. And if they did and got the host, then they were going to use whatever he had for their own gain. And if this hulk tried to stop it, then it would likely simply add one to the body count. Kliff knew that in a straight fight this guy could probably handle anything. But with that collar on his neck…

_Well…looks like there's only one option left. You'll thank me for this later, big guy…_

_Assuming I'm still alive to thank…_

Kliff stared on at the giant for a bit longer…before he suddenly removed his sword from his back and leveled it in front of him.

The hulk seemed to realize this, and turned to the man. When he did…his look turned somewhat grim…and even angry.

"After all that…you still wish to fight me?" He nearly snorted at him. "I tell you I don't wish to kill anyone else, and you want to make me do it? Or are you trying to take advantage of my mercy?"

"Just get up and put up those oversized dukes." Kliff answered. "This is the only way."

The giant's teeth clenched. He seemed to definitely be growing angry now. A huge fist suddenly opened into a palm, slammed against the ground, and tensed. The hulk began to rise to his feet. Kliff now got a true idea of how huge and formidable this person was. He didn't know whether to be sorry for that girl or amazed that she had managed to leave a dent against him. But now, his massive limbs began to tighten into fists.

"I didn't want to kill…but you're giving me no choice. You bring this on yourself."

With that, the hulk lunged forward straight for Kliff.

The man was faster than one might think for such a huge person…but even worse was that he had quite a reach on his arms. Kliff was stunned at his assault, and barely had time to leap back and out of the way before the giant was driving a fist into the floor where his body was. The landing, of course, fractured the floor and left a sizable impression. Yet despite the gigas' size, he didn't slow down from that too much. In an instant, he had pulled his fist back out of the floor and was charging for Kliff again.

The old man backed up a bit more, but then stood his ground. He held Dragonslayer in front of him. This guy was big, but he couldn't have been dumb enough to run on a blade. However, on seeing that the giant wasn't stopping, Kliff began to grow a bit sweaty and wondered if he actually would. But before he could ponder that anymore, the giant was on him. He watched as the huge man swung out the back of his hand, and seemed to lightly smack Kliff's blade out of the way. Due to his sword's own size and his opponent's size, Kliff realized it was nothing for the giant to smack his blade to the side by hitting the flat of it. Kliff's hands were both still on his handle, despite the force that had been in the blow, but it made no difference in a second. The huge man lunged out with his other hand and seized him.

Kliff was so small compared to the hulk that the giant's hand enveloped his torso, the fingers lacing around the other side. Kliff panicked for a brief moment. This guy was so huge that he could easily crush him in his hand like a rotten grapefruit. He began to bring Dragonslayer back up and around to cut him before it was too late…when the man reacted again. Giving a grunt and moving with incredible power, he yanked Kliff up, around, and then flung him into a nearby corridor wall. The old man connected solidly with it, his body crumpling around the details on it, before he nearly bounced off of it and back to the ground. Dragonslayer clattered from his grasp as he sprawled out on the floor.

Now Kliff was not feeling well. That throw may have broken a bone or two. And even if it didn't, his body felt like it had just been dragged under a truck. Immediately, he told himself to rise. His body protested, refusing to move as quickly as it used to…perhaps even as quickly as it had yesterday. He was stiff and sore, and his older body didn't want to comply with his youthful fighting practices.

The old man did managed to grab Dragonslayer before looking up while still sprawled out. He gaped a bit at what he saw. The hulk was charging. But he didn't try to smash the old man into jelly. Instead, he launched himself off of his own small-by-comparison legs, extended his arms, and lunged for Kliff like some old pro wrestler. He was going to bring his huge body down on his. Kliff had a feeling that the man had to weigh a few hundred pounds, and he'd probably be turned into jelly if he let him…

Kliff tried to get up, but it was no good. He didn't have time and his body was protesting too much. And so…he did the next best thing. He pitched himself into a roll and went out from underneath the giant's path. A moment later, and the huge man smashed down chest-first on the ground where Kliff had been. As for Kliff himself, he was just barely a few feet away from him. However, he looked out and saw that the trailing blade of his sword was just underneath a bit of the giant's own flesh. While still on the ground, and while the giant was still trying to get his limbs back under him, Kliff sliced upward with his sword along the giant's body.

The hulk didn't even cry out in response to what he did. Kliff's body wasn't obeying him like it used to. The cut was unfocused and weak. And the giant's own skin seemed to almost be like iron. The slash that he delivered to the man was barely enough to open a one inch cut along the skin of his torso. Cursing this, Kliff forgot about it, and practically swore at his body like a drill sergeant to get up and keep moving. This time, luckily, adrenaline seemed to give it the idea, and it obeyed.

Yet even as Kliff quickly rose to his feet, he saw that the giant was getting up nearly as quickly. Both were standing at roughly the same time, and were left staring at each other dumbly for a moment, waiting for who would make the first move and who should better spend time trying to counter.

It ended up being the giant who moved first. Advancing, he swung one of his tree-trunk-like arms at the smaller man, who quickly was forced to duck or be ripped off his feet…assuming his head wasn't ripped off of his neck. The huge man swung another arm a second later, advancing on Kliff and trying to literally "knock his block off". Kliff managed to dodge this one as well, despite the air-cutting sound it made and the fact that this man was moving so fast. However, a plan was starting to form in his mind…

As the hulk lunged forward and swung another fist at him, Kliff went to work. The old man ducked, but then rushed inward as well. The blow went sailing harmlessly over his head, and now Kliff was headed right for the giant's exposed side. The man was so big that it was hard for him to keep up with this sort of attack, and he was caught off guard. A moment later, and Kliff, while running by, brought up the edge of Dragonslayer and struck out for his exposed area underneath his ribs. Kliff was still fighting somewhat erratically, and the man's skin was still very rough and solid, but he managed to slice out and draw a much larger cut along the giant's side. This one actually made the hulk grunt.

Kliff was about to grin to revel in his small victory…when the giant's speed surprised him again. Spinning around like the crack of a whip, the hulk rotated sharply to the old man and drove his elbow into the back of his head. Immediately, Kliff's vision went black and filled with stars as a numbing sensation of pain shot through his skull. The blow ripped him off of his feet and sent him for a tumble headfirst.

Luckily, the blow was painful and dazzling, but not nearly as strong as the other had been. Kliff was going with it and absorbed most of the impact. Although he went into a tumble and had a swimming, blackened head, he managed to throw himself forward into a somersault. The result sent him going away even faster, which was good. The giant had brought the rest of his body around, and had attempted to drive his fist down to smash him. As it was, he hit only air in the process.

Kliff continued to roll out, holding Dragonslayer with him, until he was a good distance from the giant. Only then did he come out into a squat. Now he was even dizzier, sorer, and stiffer. But he forced his body to shut up and keep moving. Now that he was in this position, he quickly raised his blade in front of him, put as much power as he could into his legs, and then shot off straight back for the giant.

The hulk turned to him and saw him coming, but he was moving too fast for him now. The only thing he could do was lift his huge forearms and brace himself with them as best as he could. Yet flesh, however tough, was no substitute for true armor. Kliff didn't have as much pop in his attack as he wanted, but he still managed to shoot forward and drive his sword tip all the way to and through the hulk's left forearm. Blood burst out from the opposite side before his metal tip, stained crimson, erupted.

Now, the hulk gave out a yell of pain. His arm ripped up, jerking Kliff and his sword off the ground as it remained imbedded inside his forearm. Kliff began to feel it slip out, but it was too late for that. The giant was hurt but still had enough of his wits about him to swing his fist forward into Kliff's body. Had he had enough sense to use the pistons in his gauntlet, Kliff would probably have had his chest compressed. As it was, the old man was ripped back and away from the giant. He maintained a grip on his sword just long enough to pull it free from the hulk's body before flinging back and crashing against a wall. A moment later, he collapsed once again into a sprawl.

Kliff wasn't able to get up right away. That time he _knew_ he had broken something…hopefully not his spine. His back was sore enough for it…or a broken shoulder blade. A large, fist-shaped bruise was forming across his chest. He felt any exposed organs crushed. He hoped he wasn't bleeding internally, especially when he spat out a wad of blood. Despite every bit of his body telling him he was done, Kliff began to push himself up again, going on fumes and sheer will power. One more hit like that would definitely finish him. He wasn't even sure how well he could still fight at this point. He began to slowly realize through his pain and dazzled senses that he had lost Dragonslayer again, and as he rose up he saw the only thing keeping him from being annihilated right now was the fact that the hulk was grasping his bleeding arm. He may have wounded one appendage, but one fist was enough to finish the old man off.

Kliff had barely managed to get on all fours when the giant suppressed his pain and looked to him. A moment later, and he wheeled his huge bulk around to Kliff and broke into another charge. He wasn't going to leap this time. He was just rushing in to crush the smaller man. Kliff was barely ready to intercept, and without a weapon he wouldn't be anything more than debris. In the end, as the gigas closed, there was only one thing he could do. He leapt forward on all fours and darted underneath the man's legs. His small body slipped through easily, and soon he was shooting by him toward the other side.

The giant stopped, stunned by this sudden maneuver. Kliff thought it was rather pathetic himself, but so long as it kept him alive he couldn't complain. He was panting quite a bit now, and growing rather tired. However, he kept himself on the move. His sword, still dripping with blood, was just ahead. All he had to do was get to it first. He continued to scramble on all fours as he rushed up to it. As he drew near, he reached out one hand to grasp it…

Before he felt a crushing grip on his rear leg. His fingers touched against the hilt of his sword before he felt himself dragged back. He didn't have to look back to know what it was, but he turned anyway. The hulk had grabbed him with his bad hand. It no doubt put him into strain, but he did so none the less. That was so he could reserve his good hand solely for punching…and he was raising it up to do so.

Kliff panicked for a moment, trying to think of how to get out of this. Eventually, his quick thinking led him to one possibility. He had no idea if this would work or not, but he had to try. His hand suddenly shot out and went for one of the numerous indentations on the ground from their work. Although the walls were metal, the material on the floor was metal covering some sort of stone. By denting the floor in, the giant had exposed some. He quickly snaked out with his gnarled hand as he went by and dipped into one. He hadn't had time to search. He only grabbed the first solid rock he could find, and hoped that this would be enough to do. It would for a normal man…but for a hulk like this guy? He hadn't time to worry anymore about it, only to act. Abruptly, he snapped around, and brought the rock down as hard as he could on one of the monstrous knuckles.

Luckily, the bulge of muscle and extra growth around the man's fingers seemed to reduce what durability they might have had, and striking right at the joint was a great way to injure them. Kliff's hit had been true and he broke the rock doing it…but one of the hulk's knuckles was broken.

The fist that threatened to descend faltered as the giant's eyes widened, and he let out another cry of agony. He tried to hold on…but in addition to losing 20 percent of his gripping power the pain was keeping him from focusing. He slipped, and Kliff quickly scrambled out. He vainly tried to hit him with his remaining hand, but the blow was weak and unfocused, and Kliff missed it easily. He might even have been able to survive a hit like that…although he didn't want to try it. He didn't look back again. He just scrambled out to his sword and quickly seized the hilt of it, before turning and starting to get up again.

By the time Kliff was on his feet and facing the giant, his opponent was already standing. One of his fingers was swelling to twice its size, and was purple and black in some areas. The wound was still bleeding, although the man's own huge muscles seemed to be pinching it closed. However, the man himself was now fully enraged. He stared at Kliff pointing his giant sword at him only a moment…before he suddenly drove his fist up and into the ceiling, punching a large indentation into it. Kliff was confused at this, and wondered if the man was crazy enough to try and bring the place down on him.

A moment later, and a breaking sound went out as a torrent of water erupted from the ceiling. It seemed to be powerful enough to start blasting away at the rock, cutting out a larger part of the ceiling in its wake. But Kliff didn't care about that. He only cared about the fact that the man soon ripped out a rather large and long section of pipe from the ceiling, and was wielding it like a club.

Kliff's eyes widened for a moment before he quickly ducked, barely missing the huge weapon taking his head off. He quickly went to another side to avoid being squished by it. Grunting almost like an angry bull, the giant stepped forward and began to swing it at Kliff left and right. The old man was forced to dodge. He knew full well that there was no way he could hope to block it. He'd wind up with his sword being knocked out of his hands, and maybe his arms along with it.

Kliff tried to think. This guy was so huge he couldn't inflict a wound without getting a worse hit in response. And he couldn't take anymore. The next hit had to take him out. Frankly…Kliff didn't want to kill him. This wasn't what he had set out to do. He provoked him to start this fight. If he did kill him, it'd be almost like murder. There had to be something he could do… This guy didn't look like a traditional giant, so there was no way to use a possible enlarged tumor to drop him. However, there was one thing. This guy's heart had to be working overtime. His circulation probably wasn't that great. There might yet be a way to end this without death…

The giant swung his weapon out once again. Kliff leapt back to avoid it, but was backed up against a wall in doing so. The hulk immediately advanced and swung one more time, no doubt hoping to finish the fight with this. Kliff quickly held his own sword out, getting it ready, and then ducked as the blow came in. One final time, the pipe sliced over his head. Kliff waited until it was gone…and then quickly lunged up and sliced out, cutting the giant over the back of his one remaining good hand.

The hulk let out a cry and instinctively reached for the bleeding wound. He didn't drop the pipe, but he did halt momentarily. This was as good a chance as Kliff would get. Quickly, he rushed forward toward the hulk, wondering if he was too old to be doing this, and deciding on it when he drove his sword tip down as he ran, burying it into the ground. Yet he kept coming, and quickly put his weight on top of it. It was analogous to what he did to Zato-1 the other day when he set up the "rake" trap for him. Only this time, Kliff was using what weight he had to accent it as he himself leapt onto the blade's end.

The momentum worked. Kliff bent back for a moment, but the blade held in the ground and the force of his forward motion plus the inertia in the blade combined to snap forward. As the giant recovered, he looked up to see the old man launching himself off of the end of his sword like some sort of pole vaulter, and landing on top of his body with his arms over his shoulders a moment later.

The hulk easily held his own weight plus Kliff's. The old man himself was a bit sore from having thrown himself on the top of the behemoth. As for the giant himself…he was puzzled for a moment at this. It took only a second, however, before he started to raise his hand for Kliff. The old man didn't wait though. Quickly, he latched onto him, and with all the strength his old body could put out, he twisted himself up and over to the opposite side. He felt himself straining as he did so, and his hips were nearly sprained, but he managed to do it. Once there…he quickly lashed out with his arms, wrapped them around the hulk's neck, made sure to position over the crucial arteries, and clenched.

For one second, the giant fumbled for him. But his own muscles were getting in the way, and he couldn't reach Kliff to pull him off of his headlock. Yet that lasted only that moment. After that, the giant swung his body around to aim Kliff at the rear wall, and began to take off. He was going to crush him into jelly against it. The old man couldn't worry about that, although he began to sweat. He only held on and prayed…

The giant got about halfway to the spot…before his feet suddenly stumbled. His mouth opened and he gagged once, but that didn't do any good. As he began to waver on his own feet, unable to keep them underneath him, he staggered. Then, most suddenly, he let out a grunt…and began to collapse. As he did, Kliff quickly released his neck and leapt to the ground. He landed on his feet, albeit too painfully for his stiff ankles, but clear of the giant. His opponent fell backward and landed flat against the ground, his massive body smashing into it and shuddering the floor around him. After that, he went still. Other than breathing slowly, he did nothing else.

Kliff wiped a deal of sweat from his brow and caught his own breath. He kept his eye on the hulk as he did so, but other than breathe he did nothing. After a moment or so longer of recovery, he decided to do something stupid. He went up to the huge man, bent down at his side, and checked his breathing and pulse. The pulse was still pumping away from the fight. The breathing was long and slow, however. In any case, he was still alive.

The old man himself sighed in relief as he stood. He had gambled right. Attacking the giant head on was suicide unless you were able to drop him before he dropped you. There was only one thing the old general could think of. With his size, his circulation had to be poor. If that was the case, if he could have cut off the blood flow to his head, he should have gone down much faster than a normal person would. He looked like he had guessed right…although it was still a close one for him.

Kliff looked down at the man. He continued to lay motionless. He sighed and began to go for his weapon. As he reached it and pulled it from the floor tiredly, he spoke to his unconscious opponent.

"I'm sorry I had to do it like that, whoever you are. But that might have been the only way. I was going to fake a battle with you, but I had no assurance that whoever you work for would have bought it…unless you were truly unconscious. I reckon they have a way of monitoring you. You did as you were told. You told them where to find him. But the only way I can keep this guy and his stuff from Zepp is to take him out. In the meantime…if you've been beaten by whoever is on this island, they may be a bit too scared to attack right away. Maybe this way you can get back to your family."

"A ramshackle strategy, but possibly effective. It doesn't matter though. He will never leave this facility again."

Immediately, despite his aches, pains, and a voice in his head telling him, "Not now, Kliff…I'm too spent.", Kliff whirled around to the source of the words. His sword immediately went up and pointed in the direction of the person. His eyes turned cold and hard. He did all of this…because of the voice. The sound it had made was cold and dark…unnatural by any standards. It had an inner power in it that no human could master. And on hearing that sound…something old had snapped Kliff to attention…something familiar.

It was the voice of a Gear…and it reminded Kliff of when he used to hunt them.

Now, the man glared past the giant and down the hall slightly. His muscles tensed up and his jaw tightened. Even before he recognized the person…his mind registered. He knew what made that sound. It was definitely a Gear. No other way around it. That meant Sol was right. There had been a Gear involved the whole time. Well, if there was…it ended now. He didn't care what he had just gone through. He had killed Gears dozens of times. He was going to beat this one too. He was ready to fight…

However…Kliff froze when he saw the figure of the host.

It wasn't the fact that he had bone-white skin, or that his muscles were small and yet unnaturally toned into an image of power. It wasn't the fact that he kept his face covered with some sort of hooded cowl that left him in blackness. No…it was in the trappings that he wore around himself. They were loose and old…and seemed to be fashioned into some sort of bare robes that went around his chest and lower torso. And they were pure black, only the metal rings and fastening shining out. But he recognized them none the less.

They were the clothes of a member of the Sacred Order of Holy Knights.

Kliff was caught off guard by this for a moment, but then quickly snapped back up to the man ahead. He had to keep his wits on him. He didn't know how he had gotten that uniform, but he probably took it from a dead body. At any rate, Kliff no longer cared. He only focused on the Gear. And when you fought a Gear, all of your wits had to be focused on victory and nothing else.

"Sol was right all along." He spoke aloud as he stared at him. "You were a Gear the whole time. I don't know how the hell one of you bastards are still able to move around after Justice got wasted, but I don't care either. I don't care what just happened. I'll drop you even quicker than I dropped him. I _won't_ be trying to spare your life."

To Kliff's surprise, he got a rather cold snort back from that.

"I thought as much." The hooded figure answered, his voice fairly cold and emotionless…but also indicating an underlying venom. "I thought you'd as easily kill me as anyone else…now that I am what I am. To think…I used to call you 'father'."

Kliff's stern grimace vanished. It turned to confusion instead. "Huh? What the hell are you talking about?"

The Gear didn't answer. Instead, he produced a single hand with a partial glove, and moved it to the top of his head. He grabbed the cowl a moment afterward, and with one easy tug ripped it off of his head. He lowered his hand and let it fall noiselessly to the ground.

Kliff's pupils shrank. Dragonslayer fell to the ground with a much louder clang. His knees turned to water, and he almost fell to them. He staggered back…unable to comprehend what he was looking at.

"No…" He breathed out. "Im…Impossible… It can't be you…"

The long black hair of the individual, smooth and flawless, poured out over his shoulders to the middle of his back. A single black collar was around his neck, studded with metal. His face…his face had barely changed since he had seen it last. It had grown older…gotten to about the age of eighteen before freezing in its current expression. After that, however, age ceased to have an effect on it or the rest of his body. But though it was his face…the soul behind his burning red eyes seemed to have disappeared. His face was as icy and merciless as stone. Yet it was him. It could be no other.

It was Ozzie.

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: Sins of the Sons...

2nd Round Results:

Match 1: Ky Kiske vs. Zato-1

Winner: Ky Kiske

Match 2: Sol Badguy vs. Millia Rage

Winner: Sol Badguy

Match 3: Kliff Undersn vs. Potemkin

Winner: Kliff Undersn

ELIMINATED: Axl Low, Chipp Zanuff, May, Dr. Baldhead, Zato-1, Millia Rage, Potemkin

MOVING ON TO ROUND 3: Sol Badguy, Ky Kiske, Kliff Undersn

So, out of round two, what was your favorite fight?


	20. Sins of the Sons

**"Sins of the Sons"**

* * *

Kliff was still so stunned that he didn't try to react when Ozzie placed the body of the giant, moving it easily with small, unstrained gestures, against some sort of tree root that was stretched between the floor and the ceiling. It would only take one look around to realize the purpose, but he wasn't focusing on that either. He didn't even really watch when, in a horrific chain of events, the central root erupted into smaller roots that quickly wrapped around the giant's body, coiling around in several places, and holding him up. Ozzie released as the roots continued to weave their cocoon around him, and turned away, not seeming to care any longer. 

One of the three other prisoners in the chamber, some hard-faced woman with blue eyes (Kliff couldn't tell anymore, since she was engulfed by the tree roots everywhere but her face, sneered and looked out to him.

"…When I get out of here…I'm going to kill you myself."

"Don't worry. You'll never be leaving that enclosure again." Ozzie calmly answered, looking to the monitors and not to her. Hearing him speak like this chilled Kliff's blood. He used to have some trepidation and kindness in his voice. Now it was soulless and dark. "I'll be killing you very soon. And if you're desperately looking around the chamber for a way out, there is none. Those prisons only work in one direction. Any attempt anyone makes to rescue you will merely crush you to death."

"We didn't do anything to you!"

This voice was the only one that managed to shake Kliff out of his brief moment of apoplectic shock. He actually turned to this voice, another face emerging from a basket of roots. This one, however, was a young girl. Despite his aghast emotions at what he was seeing, he remembered that Sol had said the host was collecting the winners. Could this be the girl the giant was talking about? But irregardless…how could Ozzie…?

"I never hunted any Gears or anything! Why are you keeping-"

The girl was abruptly cut off as Kliff saw Ozzie wave a hand over the four root prisons. Immediately, three coils of roots erupted and wrapped themselves around the mouths of three of those present, gagging them. The girl's eyes widened in surprise, and she struggled. But Kliff saw only her face could move. The prisoners couldn't even make their cocoons shudder.

"I don't need your interruptions for a few minutes." Ozzie calmly explained.

The girl reluctantly relaxed, seeing it was futile. The woman had already gone still herself. There was one other in there…one whose face was a mess of blood and bruises, but glared darkly at Ozzie. His mouth had been gagged before he arrived. Lastly, the giant was gagged as his cocoon finished knitting. He wasn't even awake, but it appeared that Ozzie wasn't…

_Ozzie…_

_How can this man be Ozzie?_

Not a word had been spoken between the two since Kliff had seen the truth. The man had just stared back at him with his blood-red eyes, looking like some hellish phantom of the boy he had raised as his own. When he did finally move, it was only to extend a finger and beckon Kliff. Without another word, the man turned and picked up the giant, easily hoisting him over one shoulder despite his size and weight, and began to walk down the corridor. Kliff hesitated momentarily, but then went after him. He forgot about Dragonslayer, leaving it behind and on the ground where he had dropped it.

It didn't take long for the environment to change. More and more of those root structures began to emerge from the walls, until they coated them rather than the cables and conduits. The green light grew dimmer as more of these roots grew around them, making the place look more unnatural and disturbing. Yet that wasn't so much as where Ozzie took them.

He went into a large, circular chamber. Here, he saw everything that Ozzie needed. He saw control consoles that matched the weapons platforms that he had uncovered in Gear wars. He saw the supercomputers that allowed for the calculation of chemical formulas for any malady in a heartbeat. He saw the communications equipment and even the chair where Ozzie had made his world-wide statement from. He saw the computer consoles that gave him eyes all over England. And then he saw the "losers", suspended in their root prisons, unable to move or resist in the slightest. All around him, the roots, tinted green, surrounded everything like a twisted plague of nightmare weed. This belonged to Ozzie…this was his command center…

Kliff couldn't believe it. He refused to.

"…It can't be you."

Kliff repeated the words he had said to him five minutes ago. Ozzie himself looked up and turned to him, finally acknowledging someone else.

"And why not?" He simply answered. "Why couldn't it be?"

"You have to be some Gear taking his place…mimicking his appearance or something…"

"You found me in the town of Swartzkoff. I lived with you until I was sixteen. For that birthday you gave me my first sword. My favorite food is potatoes. My favorite story is, 'The Once and Future King'."

After saying this, Ozzie refocused on his eyes.

"Anything else you wish to test me on, Kliff? Any other evidence to show that I was the person you knew? The boy you took in? Any more questions?"

Kliff wasn't able to answer. The words that Ozzie had said confirmed what he believed…and he didn't want to think about it. To be honest, he had never heard of a Gear that could mimic appearances before. But even if there was, it would have had to have been one that could siphon memories as well. That was something even more unheard of. This was him.

Kliff's face tightened, before he finally spoke again.

"One real question…how?"

Ozzie stared at him a bit longer. After that, however, he seemed to ignore the question. He turned and looked to his monitoring console. Once he was there, he went to the chair, sat down inside it, spun around, and looked to the monitors. He started to press a few buttons with his back to Kliff. Just as the old man was able to ask him to speak up, Ozzie began.

"…I did manage to get _some_ reputation after I left you. I knew you never told me it, but everyone else said I was naturally weak. That I'd never be as good as you. Be that as it may, I had enough skill from training with you to kill a few Gears. I even got some renown among local members of the Sacred Order where I lived. They called me the 'Black Knight'. I received a black uniform to match the reputation. However…I knew the whole time I was still painfully inadequate compared to many knights. I wanted to be more, so that I could be more like you. So I could think of myself as being worthy of your reputation and legacy. That's when I encountered the Post-War Administration Bureau."

Hearing that made Kliff tense up.

_Sol was right. Those sons of bitches… When this is over I'm going to kill every last one of them…_

"They said they could enhance my battle capabilities far above that of normal men." Ozzie continued. "They said they could make me more than a man. They could actually make me into a Gear myself. I had very few scruples regarding the matter. To me, all that mattered was that I could be strong enough to be more like you. That I could be an heir to the Undersn name. And so, I took it. I figured that we could use a Gear on 'our' side...

"The process literally took years. I was unconscious throughout all of it. Time slipped by and I had no idea what had happened in the lapses. But when I finally awoke, I was reborn as something new and mighty. I had magical powers and physical abilites far above those of any other human I had ever encountered…even you. My interior metabolism ran so efficiently that I barely generated any heat and required any air. As a result, I was invisible to infrared scanners and almost ceased to age. My new magical abilities allowed me to channel power through a special scythe, enabling me to warp time and space to engage in otherworldly, unstoppable movements.

"And yet through it all…there was one fatal flaw to their plan. I remembered everything that had happened before now. I remembered my entire life and what I had felt at each point in it. However, I had no emotional attachment to any of it. I felt nothing favoring either humans or Gears. I felt nothing inside me telling me to have ever become a Gear in the first place. I didn't even feel anything for you.

"Yet I tried to work regardless. I remembered that I had wanted to fight for humans, and so that was what I started out as. Alone, I set out for a village under attack by two low levels and a medium. Using my ability to tear a gateway in time and space made it easy. The three would have been impossible for me to destroy before, but as soon as arriving I had destroyed all three in seventeen seconds. It was strange, though. Only now did I first start to feel something again. I bore no true hatred toward the Gears until then…only the knowledge that I had once wanted to kill them. When they screamed in pain as I slashed them, when their faces turned to agony…I felt a true emotion again. I felt pity…remorse…even horror at my own actions.

"I turned back to the humans I had saved, expecting them to be in awe of my performance and grateful for what I had done for them. Instead, they immediately attacked me with whatever weapons they had left. To them, I was just another Gear. It didn't matter that their own eyes had seen me save them. All that mattered was that I was a monster to them. They looked on me without any hesitation, understanding, or pity. They simply attacked me with one mindset…kill.

"I was stunned and overwhelmed. They made me pay for my hesitation with pain and blood. I was forced to turn and flee before they destroyed me. They hunted me down most of the way. They trailed the blood I had spilled and relentlessly stayed at my heels. They threw bombs in caves they thought I was hiding in, or cut down forests that they thought I was moving in. It took a day of recovery before I was able to teleport again. That was the only way I was able to get free. I went randomly, not caring where I went. It ended up that I took myself to a mountaintop in a distance country. On arrival there…I bent over and wept.

"I didn't know what I had done to myself. I figured that I had turned myself into a monster. I remembered that I had once tried to earn more admiration and reputation, to become as powerful as you had been. I even had visions of leading the Sacred Order of Holy Knights as you had. Now I was nothing. I thought I was a freak and a monster. I thought I had destroyed my past and humanity to become some loathsome creature. I saw myself being hunted the rest of my days, not able to obtain refuge among humans or Gears or anything else. I didn't even have the bravery to return to the person I remembered had once shown me love: you. I thought of destroying myself right there. Yet fate and fortune intervened. At that moment…I met him."

Kliff felt himself lock up a bit there. He didn't have to know who the person was. The way in which Ozzie said it made it all too clear…

"Based on my memories of him, though I had no emotional attachment, I expected him to destroy me. I was most surprised when he silently walked up to me and sat at my side. Once he was there, he asked me why I wept. I felt no desire to hide anything from him, and so I told him everything. I told him how I had once been human…how I was now a Gear…how I would now be hated and spurned by both races for my foolish choice. I told him how I had killed three of his kind and many others before coming to this point. I did so hoping he would indeed get angry and destroy me.

"He did neither. He was calm and controlled throughout the whole time. Once I had finished, he leaned back and spoke to me as a father would speak to his son. He told me not to be surprised at the human's reactions. Humans would always destroy their own kind for being different. That was their nature. They had been destroying each other for thousands of years for being different. That was why we…he said 'we', not just himself…had been created. To destroy humans for them because they were getting tired of getting themselves killed doing the job. They had made a race of humanoids to do their dirty work for them, without giving them the most meager privilages that a life was entitled to. And once this war was over, if they won, they would go right back to doing the same thing.

"He said this was why he had started the war. Humans had been ruining the environment, raping the land, and massacring their own species in the name of their own wars and benefits for generations. They were destroying the world and every living creature on it without concern for anything, even members of their own race. To him, humans had given the straw that broke the camel's back by creating a race of sentient beings who were forced to fight their selfish, pointless wars for them. He wanted to make a new race. A better race. Humans had their chance. Now, it was time for the Gears to go to work. They had the technology, the wisdom, the power, and the desire to remake the world into something beautiful and good. But mankind would never allow them. To them, they were still just engines of destruction. And they didn't want them running around on their own. After all…what good is a sword which refuses to obey its swordsman, who wants to go about sparing and killing who it sees fit? The same way with us. We'd be destroyed…and then they'd make a new race to enslave, repeating the same mistakes they had endlessly made for thousands of years…

"I remembered hearing these arguments before when I studied Gear mentality when I was younger. Yet now, without any emotional attachment, I truly listened to them. And they began to make sense to me. Were the Gears truly the monsters? Which race was the one who tried to destroy me like a rabid animal _after_ I had saved them? And which supposed mass-murderer, only _after_ I had killed at least ten members of his own race in my lifetime, was now sitting down with me, consoling me, counseling me in my time of doubt and confusion?

"He went on to tell me that Gears saw other Gears and recognized only kindred. That was why he had seen me and not had a desire to strike. To him, I was one of his brethren. He told me that we were smarter, stronger, and better than humanity in every respect. If anyone deserved to win the war, it should have been us. Not only for our own freedom, but for the good of this world…for the future. And it was then that I started to believe him. I _was_ better. I was stronger and smarter. I was a more advanced state of being with a cleaner mentality than any of those lesser beings I had tried to save the day before. And I was certainly less of a monster than they had been. I had now seen both sides of the war from the other's eyes. And now I understood the truth. The Gears _deserved_ to win. The planet, by right, was theirs. I made my decision right then and there…and from that day on Justice considered me to be as close to me as his own family."

Kliff felt his heart turn cold again. So…that was what had happened. He had been turned against the human race…and toward the cause of the mass monster and destroyer. He had been encouraged to forget about what humanity he had…and abandon it for being a killing machine. Right now…Kliff hated Justice more than ever before. He wished he could drag him out of whatever prison he was in to knock him back in again. He perverted his son…

Ozzie's chair swiveled again. It turned around until the pale, black-dressed creature, indeed just a ghost of who Ozzie had been as a human, faced Kliff. His look was still cold.

"Justice took a special liking to me. He helped me to choose a new name. Ozzie was dead. I was reborn as a successor to the next era of Earth. I was a human who had received the greatest gift of all…the ability to live among the next stage of evolution. I was a human who had seen the light and realized that my former race was doomed to destruction. I was a testimony to that fact…that humanity must adapt or die. And so…my new name was typical. I became Testament."

That final word was the last nail in the coffin for Kliff, and felt like a spike in his heart. He knew that name… It had been well outside of Kliff's specific theater of operation at that time, but he heard stories of one of the greatest Gear mass murderers. He went around from village to village, razing all buildings to the ground and slaughtering everyone…except the children. To them, he left messages. He told them all to tell all around him certain lines of poetry…lines telling about how his race would live and the other would burn. Telling them all that he was humanity's final Testament…

So Ozzie hadn't just been warped into a Gear and turned against humanity…he was one of the most notorious Gears of them all.

"…Why did you spare the children?" Kliff finally found himself asking.

This question was the first thing Kliff had said that seemed to make Ozzie's face shift. His jaw restraightened as genuine emotion seemed to pervade in him for a moment. He bowed his eyes slightly, and then swiveled in his chair back to the console.

"…Despite the fact that I always believed that Justice was the only hope for our race, and therefore the future of Earth, we didn't always see eye-to-eye. I believe humanity itself is a dirty, fallen race that deserves to be exterminated…and I kill as a part of war…but I still do not enjoy it. It's barbaric. It's what your kind does to settle disagreements. I never enjoyed going on those missions. They disgusted me more and more with time. And yet…" Ozzie paused a moment here…his voice turning almost puzzled. "…Somehow, whenever Justice would tell me to do something…I had a desire to do it. Something about his words invigorated me to carry them out. I felt like I could kill a lot easier after talking with him. And that would last through the mission. But always after it…I'd ask myself if it was really worth the trouble.

"And though I received the impulse to on numerous occasions…I never killed children. As far as I am concerned, I was a child again when Justice enlisted me. To me, they are still innocent. They still can be persuaded to the true cause…are perhaps worth saving. Maybe they could even be rebuilt into Gears as I was one day.

"Yet I think the most driving reason of all…was because children are the one things I never lost feelings about. For a while, I didn't understand why I cared about children or didn't…but that only lasted until my first attack, when I found a child huddled in the wreckage of a burned building, surrounded by the carnage that I had unleashed. An impulse in me told me to destroy all humans…but I couldn't. I connected the human with my own memories. I remembered something. I remembered once being frightened, weak, helpless, and alone…and once again my pity was aroused. I couldn't bring myself to finish him. Instead I dug him out and left him for the Sacred Order to find when they inspected my damage. I told him what to tell them when they came, and despite what I had done he knew he had to obey. He feared me too much not to. From that day on, I tried to spare children whenever possible.

"My desire to kill has diminished even more with time. That's not to say that my hate hasn't. On the contrary…I believe you humans are reacting exactly as Justice claimed you would…reopening your old wounds and ruining the planet you tried so hard to 'save'. Yet it means so little to me. It meant less and less as the war turned more against our favor. There were millions of you and few of us. And despite how pigheaded and ignorant I believed you all were, you were still capable of feeling pain and emotion. What good was it to generate more misery when, in the grand scheme of things, it would never change our status? I grew tired of fighting…listless with it. And that malaise has continued to this day. I wouldn't even be killing these combatants if their deaths weren't necessary."

"But why, Ozzie? How?" Kliff protested. He began to step toward the man. "How could you do this? You were a human yourself! You're still human! You're betraying your own species!"

"They betrayed me first." Ozzie calmly answered. "I would have never even been made into a Gear if it wasn't for the sole purpose of doing what the original Gears failed to do…kill others."

"But this isn't you!" Kliff insisted. "You would never have done anything like this!"

"You're wrong." Ozzie flatly answered. "You could have seen me doing something like this plenty of times. The only difference was that you would have preferred Gears inside these prisons instead of humans. You thought that anything was alright so long as it was against a Gear. The rules of morality didn't apply to them, did it?"

"You can't make that accusation of me!" Kliff snapped back. "My family and friends were murdered by Gears! So were yours! I was fighting a war for survival against them! I never did any acts of physical or sexual abuse to any of the inactive Gears!"

"Be that as it may…if I was still the Ozzie you remember, and these were Gears, you would not be as enraged as you are now." Ozzie calmly answered. "And what you said, plus my old connection to you, is the only reason why you are not in there with them."

Kliff made his hands into fists and clenched his teeth, anger beginning to mix with sorrow.

"How can you talk to me like this? I loved you like a son!"

"Only because you know the human I once was." Ozzie flatly answered. "You were ready to kill me without a second thought before I showed you my identity."

Kliff was silent after hearing this. He had no good answer for that. He was forced to admit…Ozzie was telling the truth. If he had just been a regular Gear, he would have been ready to destroy him. In the war, there weren't prisoners or people to interrogate. There was always only a single punishment for Gears…death. At the time, it didn't seem like much of a dilemma. After all, the Gears would kill you without a thought, and most of them had already killed hundreds of humans themselves. It was a miracle if you could even bring one down…let alone have enough leeway to wonder if it was morally right.

The old man inhaled and exhaled, wondering again about what Sol had told them before this began. The man almost seemed to have known what was going to happen…

"…Why did you start this tournament? What do you want with these people?"

Ozzie's eyes flickered back to Kliff, and held for a few seconds. After that, they turned forward again and he continued to slowly type.

"…I told you before I was tired of fighting this war." He continued.

"The war is over." Kliff stated.

"As far as I'm concerned, it doesn't end until I and the rest of the Gears are dead." Ozzie retorted. "I want to abandon it all. I want to create a new place to live. I have done much of the work already all by myself…right here on this abandoned country. But I am only one. I want a society of Gears here. I want a place where we can live free from mankind, free to develop alone and securely. If this country remains uninhabited, we shall be able to live here in peace for generations. Perhaps until we can leave this world and go to one where we are free to live as we choose.

"Yet as I said…I am only one. I wish for more of my kind. I thought of taking some of the physically and mentally handicapped children of this world, remaking them into Gears, and having them live here. But I know that humanity would never forgive that, even if I took them from the dregs of society, simply because it would mean more Gears. So instead, I wish to relocate what few Gears there are left in this world that are standing by.

"However…until I've overcome their command problems, they will forever be lifeless dolls. I have to find a way to give them autonomy. To that end, I started this tournament. I needed powerful spiritual energy, the kind only found in the most powerful combatants on Earth. Using them as a sort of power source, I hope to break the controls over Gears and give them the ability to think and choose as they wish."

"And what if they don't share your vision?" Kliff answered. "What if they share Justice's?"

"They have a right to choose…just as you and your kind do. I will not allow any human to tell me otherwise." Ozzie flatly answered. "But it was because of this that I wished the island to remain secret. I am forced to kill the others so that they can never tell anyone what I did here…never tell anyone that we are living here."

"And me, Ozzie?" Kliff pushed on. "What about me? Why did you want me to come here?"

The Gear paused again in his chair.

"…Because I wanted you to know what had become of me…and, I suppose, somewhere deep inside…I hoped that you might understand."

"I _don't_ understand. You've got that part right." Kliff went on. "This is crazy. You're inviting trouble. You have no way of controlling the others Gears. One way or another, you'll be destroyed if you stay here."

"Do you honestly care?" Ozzie simply answered.

Kliff once again was forced into silence. He clenched his teeth and made his hands into fists. He admitted it…he didn't like the idea of any Gears with the ability to think running around. Even one was too much for him. And he didn't like the fact that more of them could become autonomous. However…if Ozzie was serious about this…if he truly wished to stop fighting…then perhaps other Gears felt the same way. Justice had used them, no doubts there. They had been under his control. Maybe they wouldn't have shared his vision if they hadn't been his slaves… Kliff still didn't like it, but after what he had seen today…he was forced into rethinking his opinions of Gears. The fact was that Ozzie had killed many humans. He was in a position to kill even more. And if more Gears got onto his side…well, then what? They actually weren't able to fight back that well anymore…now that there were so few of them remaining. They'd be wiped out in a war this time. But they'd still cause a lot of havoc regardless… Still, if they weren't working as a unit, then maybe there was a chance. He had to admit one thing. He had never given them the right to choose. No one had. They only destroyed them. They may have had no choice in the past…but they were strong enough to choose now.

"…If this is what you truly want, Ozzie…then just use me." He finally said. "Let these people go."

Ozzie paused again here in his typing, this time actually stopping for a good period of time. Kliff stared back silently and waited. After a moment, the Gear turned around and looked back to Kliff again.

"…And why would you be so generous for a cause you don't believe in?"

Kliff inhaled sharply. "Ozzie…you're talking to me as if we're strangers. I always loved you. I never was mad or upset or disappointed with you. I thought you were great. And I would have rathered you live in a world without war than do this to yourself. I don't know if I gave you the wrong impression…or if my shadow was just too big for you…but I never wanted you to feel inadequate or weak. I loved you just the way you were. I want to prove it to you. If this is what it takes…if I have to give myself to you for this to show you that I still care about you…that I've thought about you every day since I stopped hearing from you…that I wish you were still the boy I once knew…then I'll do it. I just want you to know what I feel. But let them go, Ozzie. Don't do this. If you really want peace, if you really don't want to kill anyone else, then just take me."

Ozzie kept his eyes on Kliff for a brief moment. His expression showed little. He looked over the man for a while, seeming to be considering his options regarding him. Kliff stared back and waited, hoping that what he had said would spark something of the Ozzie he once knew to come out, to put an end to this madness. Most of all, however, he hoped that Ozzie would remember him…would feel something toward him as he did…

In the end, Ozzie tightened his throat once and answered.

"Alright…on one condition."

Kliff straightened up a bit at this.

"…Defeat Sol Badguy and bring him here."

The old man's eyes widened immediately. His mouth hung open. "What?"

"Your spirit isn't strong enough." Ozzie responded. "I'd have to kill the others to blend it with yours to make it work. I need an exceptionally strong one to do it with just one person. Sol Badguy is that person. Defeat him and bring him here, and I'll let these other people go and you with them."

"You want me to beat Sol?" Kliff retorted. "Is that what you're asking? He was the one who saved _my_ life when our roles were reversed!"

"I stated my condition." Ozzie simply answered. "If you truly say you love me, then you'll do it."

Kliff's eyes and jaw tightened. "That's manipulation, Ozzie. Not love."

"Would you rather I kill the four gathered here?" Ozzie answered back. "Perhaps you want to look them in the eye and tell them that they matter less to you than one friend? A friend who's always been your better, and who had more than enough naturally to make up for what you worked for your whole life? Who makes you look like a child by comparison to his dedication and mentality? Who helped some snotty kid do in a few months what you couldn't accomplish in years? Why didn't he help you back then?"

Kliff stayed silent. His look continued to stay dark. Some part of him was still holding on…still hoping that Ozzie would come through in the end and override this other personality. However, on hearing this…a part of him tightened up as well. He wasn't immature enough to actually get angry at what Ozzie was saying…but he couldn't deny that he did feel annoyed at it. There were times back in the war where, in his heart of hearts, he felt a twinge of resentment when he saw Sol being praised for killing five Gears while he had sweat and bled to kill only two at once. There were times in which he wanted to fight him…to prove how much better he had become…to prove who was now the greatest fighter in the army. They had all been dark thoughts, and Kliff had pushed them away. But now that he saw himself growing older…weaker…becoming the "old man" to the new generation…he wanted a way to prove himself…

"If you want peace, then do it." Ozzie continued. "That's the only way there will truly be peace…for me to take what's left of my kind and find a place in this world where we can exist. The war will only truly be over if you help me." The man paused for a moment after this, his look still grim.

Yet then…for a moment, the look in his blood-red eyes softened slightly…and the faintest bit of a genuine emotion of pleading came out.

"Please, Kliff."

The old man was caught there. That was the first time that Ozzie had actually started to sound like himself. Just a little…but he did. And now, he was asking him please. He was almost begging him to do it. And when he did, he started to sound just a bit heartfelt and genuine…sincere…as if this really did matter to him.

Kliff would have said no anyway if it were anyone else and any other target. He wouldn't trust a Gear with anything. They were just killing machines to him. Nothing more. They had to be exterminated before they killed anyone else. However…this wasn't anyone else and any other target. It was Ozzie…or what was left of him. And now, in that brief two-word phrase, he had begun to see the slightest hint of who he once was coming out. Perhaps it meant nothing. He was still probably his normal cold self. But the fact that he might be able to feel this…it could mean that there was still hope, that there were some shreds of him left inside that white body. And the target wasn't just anyone…it was Sol Badguy. A few days ago, he might have said no flat out. Yet now…after having spent a few days with him…after seeing them both come back from a fight yesterday with one injured and the other without a scratch…after always feeling like a child in his presence…he supposed, just maybe, he could fight a match with him. After all, Ozzie wasn't killing the others. He wouldn't have to kill Sol…just beat him up a little. And that was all assuming he could of course… And if it could show Ozzie he still loved him, made some peace in the world…and perhaps gave him a venue to try to get him to come back…

Kliff had never had a family before. Because of that, he was a good general in some ways. He had no strong emotional attachment to cloud his judgment.

Unfortunately…he did now.

"…Alright. Where is he?"

* * *

A considerable distance away from the conversation, just as Kliff had made his fateful choice between Sol and Testament, the water from the canal continued to run into a funnel-like drain that channeled it to the turbines. This was in the area that was still partially sewer, in the spot where Kliff had first emerged from the water and exited through the old, steel doorway. It was still hanging open even now. For a moment, it was still and calm, just showing the same flow of water as it had for months. 

But then, something slipped inside. It looked like just one of several pieces of debris that occasionally came in…at least on the outside. However, unlike most pieces of branches and plants that drifted in here…this one seemed to be more like junk debris…a piece of pipe floating down the canal. What more, the pipe seemed to be standing upright as it made its way down.

The pipe continued to drift until it reached this point…when it suddenly appeared to veer toward the side, where the walkway was. It did so at its own casual pace for a moment, until it nearly touched it. At that point…the pipe was suddenly thrown aside as a hand bearing a metal sickle came out and grabbed the edge.

* * *

At the opposite tunnel, just over where Sol Badguy, on his final approach, passed as he came out of the subway and into a new area, a plate covering a drain shifted to one side. A spider-like hand began to reach out from it.

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: Flash of Lightning, Roar of Flame... (AKA Sol vs. Ky...I hope I don't disappoint)


	21. Flash of Lightning, Roar of Flame

Thanks to everyone for their compliments. This next chapter was extremely challenging for me to write. Naturally, the Sol vs. Ky subplot in Guilty Gear necessitates that this be one of the biggest fights in the fanfiction, but there's still a few more after this that have to be bigger. I'd like to have both guys mess themselves up a lot in this fight, but if I do that then I have to ask myself, "What does he have left for the rest of the fights?" Continuously using the same guy in a fight is hard, because eventually you run out of things for him to do, or start having a harder time thinking them up. Last but not least, the fight could simply not seem as exciting as you wanted it to be. At any rate, I still hope I did a good job for probably one of the more anticipated fights in this fanfic...

* * *

**"Flash of Lightning, Roar of Flame"**

* * *

Sol ascended the stone staircase slowly, making sure to keep his senses alert as he looked around himself. This was it. The end of the path through the subway. This was the last station on the route. Beyond it was some sort of turnstile station to get trains onto the other track. At any rate, there were no more lights that way. The water continued to rush into the darkness, but this was where Sol got off. It was a bit of a walk. It had to extend about twenty feet underground before you got to any significant subway in this city. Yet Sol kept looking up. At first, he could only see the setting sun. It was growing darker now…but it didn't matter. Sol was close now. It would end tonight. 

There hadn't been much change after losing Millia. All that Sol knew was that his suspicions were nearly confirmed. A meeting with Ky would clear everything up. However…there may not have been time. At that point, he wasn't going to let the tournament continue any longer. He was going to go straight ahead to the host and stop him. If he did truly have what Sol thought he had in mind, then he couldn't let him wander free any longer. The more Sol put this off, the more people would die. With that in mind, he took off down the rest of the subway shaft. After going a few additional miles, destroying every camera he managed to recognize along the way, he had finally come to the last station…and, beyond the turnstiles, a way out.

A bit further, and Sol started to come over the edge. He began to look around himself as he did so. He was back in a city again. Where, he wasn't sure. It had to be some big town however. The streets were cracked, fractured, and upheaved in many places. The surrounding buildings had once been skyscrapers, but they were ruins now, having lost many of their original floors. All that was left now was the bare-bones areas of their original structure. It was the same as where he had first emerged. And like that place, the ground in the area was still concrete. Aside from a few grasses, the plant life had yet to reemerge.

However…none of this compared to what loomed in front of Sol.

In the days when this city functioned, it was likely a soccer stadium. After all, it was right next to a subway station. It had to provide good access for out of town fans. It was large and four tiered, and it was most impressive compared to the meager sports areas that humanity had rebuilt. But the banners had rotten and fallen. The brick facades had wore down. Time and wear had taken out pieces from the rims. The wood and interior design had rotted until, like everywhere else, only stone and steel remained. Where before it had been a magnificent place for entertainment…now it was just a darkened, rotten ruin. It no longer looked like a sports stadium. It more closely resembled a Roman Coloseum.

_I seriously doubt that's coincidence…_

What else was there removed all doubt. What few light fixtures hadn't been ripped down in the area surrounding the stadium and within it were now repaired and lit up, shining a rather powerful white glow on the sports complex. Much of the front of the stadium had been torn down, replaced with a large archway that led inside. He could see the first row and the field from here. There it sat…seeming to wait for him.

Sol regarded it grimly and without change. No doubt…this was where the host of the tournament planned to have his "finals match". He was accenting it too, it seemed. Sol could pick up more heat here from various resistors surrounding the complex. It seemed as if most of the energy was being packed into this zone that existed on the island. Something big was here…perhaps even big enough to be the source of all of the chaos that he had committed. And since everything seemed to lead to this point…there was no other place to turn. With that in mind…Sol began to take steps forward.

Sol's boots crunched in the gravel and grit that covered the broken roads. Each step echoed loudly throughout the surrounding area, through the entire open space that filled around the stadium, and through the streets beyond. It was nerve wracking…even for him. Although his face was perfectly calm and stoic, he knew that he was getting close and the nervousness was there. And this was a Gear. The fight would not be easy, and he had no idea what to expect. All other Gears had been, to some degree, weakened by the fact that they were under control. Their movements were too predictable and scripted. Justice, on the other hand… Well…if this Gear was also an independent thinker, he didn't know what would come of it.

_Regardless…it's still time to end this. I get my answers tonight._

Sol continued to walk forward, extending his sensory ability out farther as he came in closer. He was approaching the halfway point between himself and the stadium. The sky was growing darker, but the artificial lighting was making up for it rather well. Stadiums always had a way of doing that…

Yet as Sol took one more step forward…he came to a halt as he sensed it. A heat signature just up ahead.

A certain one…that he would never forget.

Despite how stoic he was, how private, how controlled, and how reserved…Sol nevertheless let out a single word just under his breath.

"…Crap."

The man looked up ahead of him and to the stadium. His eyes focused and burned, but he said nothing. He didn't have to. He already knew that he was expected up ahead. Just as he knew that whoever was there had to have recognized him by now too. And so, he just let the silence linger as he waited a bit longer.

At long last…a boot came out from behind one of the girders supporting the entrance arch, and touched down with a light click. It was joined by another a moment later. Both feet pulled out a youth dressed in an almost perfect white and blue uniform of the Sacred Order. "Almost perfect" was appropriate. It looked like there were some bloodstains that had been soaked in water, and some tears were stitched on it or concealed under other parts. All in all, the person beneath it didn't look that messed up to the untrained eye. And his face was certainly as cool and businesslike as it had always been as it turned out and looked about a hundred yards away…right back on Sol. His sword was naked at his side.

It was Ky Kiske.

Both men stood still. Now would be the proverbial time when a wind was supposed to blow through town. But it didn't. The air was still and dead. The sun was turning half of the sky aflame now, while stars began to come out on the other half, illuminating it with small, lightning dots… And here they were. They hadn't even seen each other in six years…not since they went their separate ways to get patched up after the fight with Justice… Sol couldn't help but chuckle under his breath at the irony.

In the end, Sol moved his tongue around in his mouth before speaking.

"…Are you even going to say hello, Ky?"

"I've got nothing to say to a criminal." Ky answered coldly. "The only thing is something inside me told me that you would be here. I had no basis to believe it…but I did. I knew you would come to the tournament. I don't know why and I don't care. You should simply take this as a sign that the powers that be are against you as I am."

Ky raised his sword and pointed it at Sol.

"You are under arrest for stealing one of the greatest relics of the Sacred Order of Holy Knights. Surrender now or I will execute you on site."

Sol stared back without reaction. Again, there was silence between the two men. When it was broken…Sol was the one who did it. A small smile cracked and he let out just the trace of a snort.

"…I knew you wouldn't get it, Ky."

The knight didn't react to this.

"You're talking about the Sacred Order as if it's still around. It hasn't been around since before the war was over, since it started growing corrupt. Do you see what I'm wearing? Just the shreds of my old uniform? There's even less of this intact of the Sacred Order now or what it stood for. You're still running around cleaning up those robes, but they don't stand for anything anymore."

"Then stand for everything." Ky answered. "Purity…lawfulness…peace…goodness…security…"

"They're an obsolete decoration from an age when people were made of more noble material." Sol retorted. This cut Ky off…and seemed to make his eyes narrow. "Now you're dishonoring their symbol by serving a bunch of corrupt politicians while wearing them."

"I don't need to be preached to about what's right by a miserable felon!" Ky snapped back. "I actually stand for something! I always did! You stand for nothing but yourself!"

"You so easily dismiss me and label me, Ky." Sol answered back. "After all I did for you…all I did for innocent lives and people…that's all I am to you. A thief. One action determines everything that I am. Tell me, Ky…is God so harsh and unforgiving that He would make His entire measure of a man based on one sin? And if not…then why do you?"

Ky was again stricken silent by this. However, Sol knew Ky better than that. He was too bullheaded to let anyone dictate logic to him…not when he was so full of self-righteousness. He showed only the vaguest look of doubt for a moment, before his face tightened up and he shifted into his stabbing pose.

"I'll take it that you refuse to surrender." Was all he answered. "Very well then."

Sol straightened a bit more. "If you want to fight me Ky…then answer me something first."

The man didn't respond to this, but neither did he advance or change.

"That seal that you put on Justice…is there any way, any way at all, to possibly break it?"

Ky straightned slightly at this. Genuine puzzlement went over his expression. He obviously wasn't planning on him asking this… However, there was something else behind it too. Something in Ky was hesitant when he heard this. Sol looked to him and understood. This only confirmed it more for him. Ky himself had his doubts. He too had heard the report. Perhaps he too had feared that the host had been serious about a return of Justice…

"…Why do you want to know?" Ky finally answered.

"Tell me and I'll tell you." Sol responded.

Ky's face twisted into a scowl…but he realized he wasn't going to get anywhere. He knew Sol well enough to know that he had his way of doing things, and if you tried to stop it you'd get nowhere. It took a moment or so longer of silence, and for a while Sol thought he wouldn't answer him.

But in the end, he inhaled and straightened himself.

"…The seal was made to reflect Justice's own power back on himself. The more he struggled to break it, the more it would be reflected back at him to stop him. There's no way he can overcome himself, no matter how hard he tries. It will just push back all the stronger."

"That can't have been enough, though." Sol responded. "There had to be some initial energy investment. Something large. Something that would have initially ripped him out of this dimension and given him something to hold him in place before he made his first push. Can this energy be forced? Overcome?"

Ky shook his head. "The energy that went into the seal came from the most potent source: magical life force. It was collected from several knights to be enough. No energy on our plain of existence can be put into that dimension to do the job. It would take another magical source, a pure one from an individual, to do it. And even then it would have to be incredibly powerful. No regular person would do it. You'd need dozens of knights or at least extremely powerful ones."

Immediately…it clicked.

_That's what he's going to do._

_He wasn't lying._

Sol had been right in his assumptions. There was a Gear running the tournament, and he did want the most powerful combatants for an insidious purpose. Yet it wasn't until now that he fully believed it to be true. The Gear wasn't just independent…he was ingenious. He wasn't planning some minor move or final act of Gear revenge. He was going to release Justice. He attracted the fighters here, had them battle each other out, and all for determining who was the "fattest cow for the slaughter". That spirit was going to be used to break the seal and let out the Command Gear.

The war was mostly over. There were only a handful of Gears still around on Earth. Yet still…if Justice was to come back to life, they would catch many places off guard. They would be able to exact a unified strike that would create chaos. And it would take weeks to get through the bureaucratic messes of rebuilt governments to organize enough to stop them. Even then…Justice had never been killed. The Gear had only been sealed away. It wasn't likely that anything still existed that could stop the leader. Thousands…millions of people could die before this crisis was contained.

Sol didn't have time for this. He had to stop him now.

"Ky…this grudge is going to have to wait to be settled." Sol finally announced.

"No it won't." The knight instantly answered. "It ends tonight."

"We don't have time for this." Sol insisted, his voice actually raising in volume. "I know what the Gear is planning to do."

Ky raised an eyebrow here. "Gear? What Gear?"

"The Gear running the tournament!" Sol nearly shouted, losing his patience. "He brought us here to fight each other out and get the strongest. He's going to use the power of whoever wins to break the seal on Justice. And when that happens…both of us, everyone on this island, and everyone who is within twenty miles of any inactive Gear left on Earth is going to die."

"That's impossible!" Ky shouted back. "All the Gears are inactive! How could one be leading the tournament?"

"I don't know and we don't have time to worry about it!" Sol snapped back. "Either get off of this island while you still can or help me, but we need to take out the host before this goes any farther! Neither of us can afford to lose now!"

"No." Ky sternly answered. "If there really is an issue, then surrender to me now and hand over the Fireseal. Then I'll check it out myself. This is police business and not yours, and you're still going to answer for your crimes at the end of today, no matter what."

Sol's jaw tightened, and his arms crossed.

"Is this standard for being IPF too, Ky? Being a stubborn assh---? For once in your life could you get off of your high horse and see the bigger picture! You want to waste time attacking me when the fate of entire countries could be at stake? You want to let people die just so you can settle the score with me?"

Ky didn't answer. Once again, his face seemed to soften up. Apparently some of Sol's words got to him and made him hesitate. Although Sol doubted it…he prayed that Ky would make the right choice for once. He couldn't afford to fight him. Even if he beat him, he still had to worry about the host. He didn't need this. The only chance at stopping the host next might rest on whether or not he had managed to get through to the knight, and whether or not he would see outside of his black and white world.

After a few seconds…Ky made his decision.

His eyes narrowed…and he stepped right in front of the door to the stadium as he shifted into stabbing mode.

"I'll never trust you again, Sol." He stated flatly. "Not after you betrayed me once. The only way you're going any farther is over my dead body."

_You ----ing idiot…_

Sol glared back at Ky for a few moments longer. However, the knight wasn't going to move. There was no way he was going to talk his way out of this. Ky had made his choice. It was either a fight or nothing. Sol did have no other option.

As Ky continued to hold one arm out and his sword overhead for a thrust, Sol merely straightened up, one hand still on the hilt of the Fireseal, upside down at his side, put one hand on his hip, and let out the barest twist of a sarcastic smile.

"Anyone dies during this, Ky…and the blood stains your pretty white robes."

Ky didn't answer. He took off for Sol instead.

Sol quickly removed his hand from his hip and dashed toward him as well. For a brief moment, both pillars of physical and magical strength tore apart the pavement, their matching boots clicking against it loudly. But then, they met each other…and went at it.

A tremendous combination of sizzling and burning roared out as the two blades swung and connected between both men. In a flash, Sol had pulled his blade up, turned it upright, and cleaved for Ky. It met Ky's own planned attack, and both collided rather than do damage. As soon as they finished, Sol pulled his sword away and brought it around, aiming for Ky's calf. Before he could hit it, the Thunderseal flashed down and intercepted it with a crackle of electricity. Ky had barely finished deflecting it before he brought his sword up again, pulled it overhead, and aimed for Sol's neck. The man quickly yanked up his own blade to block it before it could reach him. Using the fact that both swords were now locked, Sol used his strength to push the Thunderseal off to the side, sending a cascade of sparks and smokes as he pushed it. As soon as it was away, he aimed another slice for Ky's head. The knight managed to recover and intercept this first, however, and the two locked blades for three more slashes before he went for Sol's legs. The man leapt over this blow, and quickly ducked under another aimed for his head. He reached out and intercepted a third, and again the two men locked for a moment. Ky glared coldly and grit his teeth. Sol's eyes burned as his face stayed in a stone expression. Then, abruptly, both men pushed off at once from each other, and separated a distance on the field. Both held their weapons in front of them.

A moment later, and both men took off. It was an attempt to encircle the other one and come in from the side…yet since both were able to detect the slightest muscular change in the other, they responded in kind. Soon they were running parallel to one another, with neither gaining any ground. This lasted for a few seconds…before Ky abruptly bowed his legs and leapt in the air for Sol. The other man immediately stood his ground, and raised the Fireseal to intercept the first blow. Ky pulled his weapon out and thrust inward again, and Sol quickly brought his blade around, connected, and forced the Thunderseal downward. Now that Ky's face was exposed, the man quickly leaned back and swept out a roundhouse for his face. Ky's reflexes were still good, however, and he leaned back to let the foot hit only air. He followed up by bringing his own deflected blade back up in a vertical slash. Sol was the one who had to move back this time to avoid being sliced from bottom to top. Yet as soon as he had his new footing, he swiped his blade at Ky again. Yet this wasn't to slash. Instead…smoke belched out from the vents in his sword, it roared with burning red light for a brief moment, and then projected a ball of flame. This one didn't sail out like a projectile, as it had with Ky. Rather, the fireball immediately went to the ground. Sizzling and smoking, cracking the pavement in its way, the shot began to roar toward Ky, snaking out flames high enough to singe him across his torso.

Ky saw this coming and pulled back. As the fire wave neared, he abruptly leapt into the air, showing his superior physical ability and agility, and let the wave sail under him. Yet while he was in the sky, he let himself get closer to Sol, narrowing the range for another attack. Then, on landing, his own blade erupted into a bolt of electricity before a similar shot sailed out for him.

Close as the attack was, and unlikely as it would seem that anyone could avoid it…Sol abruptly arched himself back and went for the ground. He moved like lightning himself, his flesh and clothing just barely missing being singed by the burst, as he peeled himself down to a level where the bolt could sail harmlessly overhead. He still felt a severe skin prickle and a bit of a painful static electricity shock…but he dodged it. What more…somehow…he didn't fall on his back despite how far bent he was. On the contrary…soon he snapped back up to battle position, just in time to intercept Ky's latest blow.

The two locked swords, and both pushed each other in a clash for a moment. Yet after a few seconds, Sol was the one who broke off. Darting backward while pushing off, he gained enough distance to slash out for Ky's legs again. The knight once again leapt over…but this time the edge of his robe got singed. In response, while still in the air, Ky reared his own blade back and prepared a charge. On landing, he swiped for Sol's head, forcing the man to duck. A few of the hairs on one of his spikes smoldered afterward.

After coming out of this, Ky began to advance, stabbing out with his sword as he did so. Sol willingly backed up at first. The Fireseal was shorter but denser, and so he deflected the incoming stabs with his blade rather than trying to counter them. However, he only did so until he began to see Ky's pattern. As the knight pulled back to stab forward again, Sol swept out with the tip of his sword and hit Ky's own tip while it was still pulled back, deflecting the blow downward from a distance. After that, he quickly advanced and swiped his own blade for Ky's neck. The knight's eyes widened, and he immediately pulled back to avoid it, forced to retreat and get off his footing. Now, Sol went on the offensive, advancing and using power in a series of three overhead blows. Each one required Ky to grit his teeth and brace himself against, and by the third sweat was starting to mount on his brow.

Yet as Sol brought his blade down for a fourth slice…Ky didn't intercept but quickly sidestepped instead, letting Sol waste his power on hitting air. In the break, he quickly moved around to Sol's side, almost to his back, and slashed out with his sword once again to hit him in the shoulder blade. Yet Sol didn't bother turning around. Instead, he quickly yanked his own sword back and placed it behind his shoulder. Ky's blade connected a second later. Once it was there…Sol immediately pushed against it and twisted his body, holding the Thunderseal in place long enough to turn and face his opponent.

Both warriors stood with their weapons locked, both sizzling as they met one another.

"I guess you _are_ pretty good, Sol." Ky remarked with grim expression.

"Thank you." Sol calmly answered. "...I expected more from you."

Ky's eyes immediately flashed in anger, and he pulled back to attack once again.

The two blades clashed together again and again, sending out a shower of sparks and smoke around the two combatants. However, Ky was taking the offensive in this particular instance. After the reverse move, Sol's back was now toward the stadium, and he retreated toward it as Ky struck at him again and again with renewed vigor. Although he appeared to be focusing entirely on the knight, he knew which direction he was headed. He continued to back up until he began to run into one of the stone and steel support columns for the exterior. He did so right until his back hit it. Immediately, Ky stepped in and slashed out for his torso.

In response, Sol quickly "spun" his body around the column, avoiding the hit and encircling his body behind it. The Thunderseal cut slightly into the steel and rock, but other than that hit nothing. Yet he quickly pulled it off and aimed at the opposite side of the column, as Sol's body began to come out from it. However, the man once again simply rolled back, and all that Ky got for his slash were a few sparks from his blade and the iron.

Sol was soon coming back on the original side, but by now he had a few seconds bonus from moving so quickly and letting Ky waste his effort trying to hack the steel column. As he emerged this time, he once again swung his blade at the ground, sending a flaming line for Ky once again. The knight saw this coming, but it still nearly caught him off guard. Eyes widening slightly, he quickly flipped his body to the side in a nimble cartwheel, just avoiding getting singed again by the fire. Even as he did this, Sol rolled one last time to the opposite side of the column, and then took off for him. His blade was out and he planned to get in a finishing blow before Ky could recover.

Unfortunately, Ky had more of his bearings than he expected. Even as he charged at Ky, the knight himself was already back on his feet and alert. He drew his sword back and then forced it forward in a thrust motion. Sol caught this at the last moment, and quickly tried to stop his momentum before he ran himself on Ky's blade. As he struggled to plant his feet, the knight's sword came forth…

A moment later, and Sol stopped and yanked back…but not before feeling a painful electric jolt snake through his body and nearly make him go rigid. He had to use the stiffening and agony to pull himself back off of the weapon. Yet even as he did pull back…he couldn't deny the feeling that there was another, sharper pain beneath that. Right on his skin on his chest, just about halfway through the space made by two ribs, was a small bleeding wound from where Ky's blade had stabbed him.

Ky pulled his blade back, the electricity on the end already searing off the blood. His face was actually surprised. He seemed amazed that he had managed to do this. Sol himself looked down to the wound and took a bit of a breather. It was barely bleeding…but without the slightest expression of pain he touched the Fireseal to it anyway and let the flesh smolder. Soon it was catorized, and he pulled it back up and in front of him as he looked to his opponent. He actually smiled a little.

"You drew first blood after all, Ky."

Almost immediately after saying this, Sol advanced on him. This time, he attacked much quicker, shifting his sword to one hand and spinning it in figure eights as he moved his way toward Ky. The move was so fast and unexpected that Ky barely had time to react. As a result, he had to retreat and twist his head to the sides, barely avoiding each slash as it came in from opposite angles. He continued to retreat and dodge six different cycles, before his body finally snapped together enough to raise the Thunderseal in an abrupt move and smack Sol's sword away.

Unfortunately for him, this left him open, and Sol proceeded to smash his fist into his face.

Ky's head went snapping back with a quick jerk, and he began to stagger backward. There weren't many people on Earth who could have done that with just their bare hands. Sol didn't follow up right away, but let him take a moment to get a breather. However, when his head came back and he managed to stop, the man immediately shot forward again. Surprising him with his recovery speed, Ky's face turned stern and angry again, and he intercepted Sol's blow. Both men locked blades and began to push against one another.

Sol looked to Ky's furious expression…and saw drops of blood running out of his nostrils.

"And now we're even." Sol simply stated.

Ky's jaws tightened further, and he pushed harder against the sword. Sol responded with his own power, gritting his teeth and digging his feet into the ground. Both men pushed to the sides, swinging their blades one way and another, smacking them onto the pavement and then bringing them up. Smoke and sparks poured over both of them.

Finally…Sol ended it by shoving upward on both swords. Both of their blades went into the air, leaving their middles open. Sol moved to respond…but Ky was still the quicker. Before he could, Ky leapt up and drove both of his feet upward with him, digging his toes underneath Sol's jaw. The man snapped back and took the Fireseal with him, breaking the clash at last. But even as Ky began to bring his sword back to follow up…Sol's head seemed to snap back like a slingshot, and he smashed both his skull and his metal headband into Ky's own forehead. A gash broke across Ky's skin as a result, and he was stunned and dazzled as he wavered backward. However, he didn't recoil as much as Sol had. Even after getting this blow, he still had enough consciousness to raise up one of his feet, cock it back, and drive it forward into Sol's stomach. A sickening thud resulted, and Sol's eyes widened a bit as he doubled over. Immediately, Ky drew his foot back again and lashed it out higher, this time hitting Sol in the head as he presented it to the knight. The hit made Sol's head snap back, and his legs wavered for a moment as he was stuck in the hunched over position. His grip loosened from having had the wind knocked out of him, and the Fireseal clattered out from his grasp to the ground.

Quickly, Ky advanced and put both hands on his sword. He moved to the Fireseal's position, and with a flick of his foot knocked it twenty feet away, skittering on the ground the whole distance. He moved his own sword to a position over Sol's neck. He was panting now, but still looked fierce and ready to kill. Nevertheless, he paused momentarily once he was to this point, looking down on his opponent.

"The game is over, Sol. Surrender or I'll kill you."

Sol continued to waver, hunched over and dripping blood from his own nostril, and from a bruise across one eye. Weakly, however, he managed to lift his head.

"…You must not play card games, Ky…" He spoke out through clenched teeth. "You're not familiar with bluffing…"

Before Ky's eyebrows could crook to ponder this message…Sol shot to life. At full strength and not looking sore or tired at all…he abruptly lunged up from his position, curved inward just to avoid the Thunderseal, and gave Ky a bone-jarring uppercut beneath the jaw. Ky's eyes slammed shut and his face went into agony as blood flew from his gums, and his body was ripped a few inches off the ground before being set back down. Ky was now stunned and overwhelmed, and was powerless to stop Sol as he quickly turned and drove his fist in hard and deep into Ky's stomach. An older broken bone inside that had been hastily taped shredded and shifted inside the knight's gut. He would have gagged if that punch hadn't knocked much of the wind out of him. Sol drove in another blow, this time snapping the rib on the opposite side. Finally, tightening his fist, face to face with his dazzled, wavering opponent, Sol crouched and leapt up one more time, giving Ky another hit beneath the jaw. His face flooded again…only this time it looked dazed and weakened. His feet wavered underneath him, and he looked moments from falling.

Sol didn't wait. He turned away and looked to the Fireseal, and then took off for it. He had to do that just now. He wasn't trying to kill Ky. Even his moves that were meant for his neck and head were mostly just to fake Ky into a making a mistake where he would be open for Sol to wound him nonfatally. However, he couldn't afford to hold back at this point. He wasn't trying to kill Ky, but the feeling wasn't mutual. And he had to save his strength for what was beyond him. Luckily, he bet that the last barrage of blows had taken a bit out of him, and as he reached his blade, bent down, and snatched it up again, he bet he might be able to force an end to the-

Sol's train of thought was cut off as he turned back, and immediately felt an extremely painful electronic jolt rip across his chest. Giving a cry, he arched back and went rigid, the electricity making his limbs seize and paralyze. Yet somehow, through that agony, he mentally forced his body to overcome the jolt and go to the source. He was somehow able to bring his sword down against what had attacked him. A moment later, the Fireseal connected with the Thunderseal and smacked it away.

However, that didn't last. Soon, that sword was on him again, frantically stabbing once more. Sol, body still burning with pain and trying to get his limbs to move, quickly maneuvered to block these hits. Through it all, he looked forward…and couldn't believe it. Ky, looking twice as enraged, eyes blazing with passion, and still not slowing down despite the fact he was getting sweatier all the time, was attacking him ferociously. Sol realized he had never even touched the ground. He had stayed standing through Sol's blows, and now had a swollen jaw and blood staining the lapels of his uniform for it, but nothing more. He wasn't quitting. And he had taken Sol's momentarily lack of caution to rip a large gash across his chest. He could feel it soaking into his red and black clothing.

What more…Sol realized that, despite Ky's anger, he was still fighting "fair". He waited until he faced him to stab. If his back had still been turned…

Ky, giving a yell, suddenly swiped his blade out with twice the normal speed at Sol's face. To keep his nose from being cut off, the man quickly leapt back…right where Ky wanted him. Immediately, the knight aimed his blade at Sol's chest and released another bolt of electricity. Sol's eyes widened, and he crossed his arm and blade to guard himself…realizing too late that such a move was all but useless. The powerful charge struck him and traveled into his limbs, and soon a seizing power mixed with burning pain ravaged him as the force of the hit forced him backward on the ground, dragging his feet against it as it did. Ky raised his blade up to stab again, and began to dart forward…

When Sol sprung back up to his feet, gave his own yell, and barreled at Ky with his shoulder leveled straight at his chest and gut. Moments later, and Sol collided with the knight, driving his shoulder and upper arm deep into the areas with broken bones. Ky gagged and grit his teeth in misery, but Sol kept charging into him. A moment later, and Sol, still carrying Ky on the end, leapt to the ground and put Ky in between himself and it. The two bodies crashed into the pavement a moment later, Sol driving his shoulder deeper into Ky's body. The knight's eyes bulged.

Quickly, or as quick as he could muster, Sol scrambled off of Ky's chest and got on him so that he could pin him down. Panting a bit himself and dripping beads of sweat, Sol raised the Fireseal and prepared to cut Ky in much the same way as he had cut Millia.

But Ky, red faced and still overflowing with passion, still wasn't stopping. To Sol's surprise, a gloved hand shot out and grasped Sol by his lapel. As hard as it could, it yanked back and brought his head down. Ky brought it up at the same time, and proceeded to smash his own head into Sol's nose. A cracking sound resulted, followed by more blood flowing out of it. But most of all, Sol was now dazzled. That gave Ky another opportunity, this one to quickly rock back, kick up with his feet, and throw Sol's body off of him.

As soon as Ky was in that position with his back on the ground and his feet in the air, and Sol was off of him in his head's direction, he snapped his body strongly once, seeming to ignore the fact that doing so drove his chest into greater agony, and got back up to his feet. One hand was still on the Thunderseal, and he snapped around and slashed at where Sol was located. Yet at the last moment…Sol, before appearing sprawled out from being thrown off, revealed that he was getting into a rolling position, and proceeded to somersault forward to avoid the slash. Concrete was all that suffered. Ky, teeth still grit, came forward and slashed again at his rolling body, but once again hit nothing. Before he could slash again, Sol rolled onto his feet and sprung back up. The Fireseal came around and intercepted Ky's third strike. After doing so, Ky went on the offensive and advanced once again.

As Sol moved with his own quick reflexes and power to respond to Ky's attack, he began to wonder if he was right in what he said to Kliff. The only way out of this thing might be to kill Ky. There was one other option…but no, he didn't consider it. Not here…where Gears still ran around and where the original Command Gear was threatening to awaken again. In fact, if this kept up, Ky might actually do real damage to his bandanna… He wasn't sure what would happen after that. Quickly, he looked at Ky to see if there was a weakness.

The knight was as furious, constant, and passionate as he was six years ago. He moved so fast and well that you could hardly tell he was injured. However…he had to be in a lot of pain at this point. And he had to be straining himself to the limit. Each move he performed put him into more agony. He might even have internal injuries after Sol's beating. He was exhausting himself too. His robes were soaked with sweat and blood, he was practically wheezing, and his face was beet red. Yet so long as they both continued at their current level…Sol realized that things were going to be too far even. And that was as dangerous for Ky as it was for him. Ky would be willing to push himself to death to kill Sol… So long as he could still fight and stay conscious, he would. He had to be taken out somehow…

Ky broke off from his assault and fired another bolt of electricity at Sol. This time, the man rolled to one side, letting it barely shoot past him. He thought that reacting like this would be enough to confuse Ky…but he was wrong. The knight immediately spun forward, extended his blade, and tried to cut through Sol's torso. The man was forced to break off his plan and shoot back…but was again too slow. The blade cut through his shoulder this time…and this time the wound was deep. It went in a good inch and scratched his bone.

Ky immediately tried to follow it up by moving in and swiping at Sol's face. The man backed up to barely dodge this, but Ky wasn't stopping. He came again, and this time aimed for Sol's belly. Yet the man managed to confuse him a bit with his next move. Rather than blocking or countering…he simply stuck the Fireseal straight out, as if to intercept Ky with a stab when he advanced. Ky was forced to grind to a halt, but he managed to stop himself before growing anywhere near too close. He looked down at the sword curiously a moment, kept panting, but then looked back up to Sol. Gritting his teeth, he swung out his sword and connected it with the Fireseal, meaning to knock it away…

Sol waited until the precise moment that their blades locked. When that happened, he fired up his own power and released another flaming wave. This one didn't go along the ground, however. It sailed down the surface of the Thunderseal itself, riding the edge along the blade and down to the hilt, where it moved over and impacted Ky's hand. A sizzling sound went out as the flesh was seared. Ky's eyes widened as he gave a scream of pain, and he shot backward once again.

Now…Sol advanced again. But this time, he didn't try to be fancy or use skill. Instead, he came at Ky and hammered down one powerful blow after another over his head. Ky was able to raise his sword and intercept each hit, but at a price. Weary, strained, and agonized already, Ky was having to force himself quite a bit in order to keep fighting. Each blow that he intercepted from Sol was wearing down on his reserves a bit more. His arms were starting to ache from struggling to keep the fight going…

At last, Ky managed to twist his blade to the side, lock with the Fireseal, and force it down and away. Immediately, moving as fast as he could with as much power, he advanced on Sol again. He launched out a furious assault, and Sol was barely able to avoid each hit as he moved back. However…he didn't try to block Ky's hits this time. Instead, he moved his head to the sides, bowed his body inward, or sidestepped. He got a few shocks and his clothing was shredded a bit more, but he wouldn't let himself fight back with his own blade. Dripping sweat in buckets, seeming to be gagging on his own collar, Ky kept advancing and trying to hit him. Yet in doing so, without hitting Sol's blade and stopping his charges, he was putting out all of his force in each swing, and having to fully recover from each fully extended swing. Though he looked practically on the verge of a heart attack, Ky still wouldn't stop. Each blow continued to come…

Finally, Ky planted his feet and thrust out with the tip of his blade for Sol's stomach. The man quickly shifted to one side to let it sail by. Ky yanked back and stabbed again, this time for Sol's head. Sol dodged by shifting his head one way, and then the other. After that, he finally brought the Fireseal up and struck it down on the Thunderseal. He meant to smack it down and away and put his blade to Ky's throat…

Yet still, it wasn't over. Ky was grunting and straining to keep moving, but still he wouldn't stop. He brought his blade back over and around, and smashed it down on top of Sol as hard as he could. Sol quickly raised his own blade and intercepted. The power was surprising. He actually felt his muscles burn and buckle under the force of it. He grit his own bloody teeth, dug in, and held on, determined to win this final clash. The two forces held for a few fateful second, both gushing sweat, both bleeding, and neither giving an inch.

But in the end, it was Sol who forced Ky to use up his stamina.

Giving a mighty wrench, Sol focused his power and pushed up, bringing Ky's blade back, before sharply rotating, locking, and twisting his blade down. He gave two quick turns to gum up Ky's wrists, working on the burn he now had on one palm as well, before he managed to loosen the Thunderseal from his grip. In a flash, he flung the weapon to one side, letting it sail through the air, arch down, and then embed in the concrete. However…long before it hit the ground, Sol struck his last two blows. He couldn't afford to let Ky surrender. He had to do him now. Two burning blades later, with an explosion of blood along with them, and Sol had crisscrossed two large cuts across Ky's chest.

These cuts weren't as deep as the one he had given Millia, but they had successfully given Ky a sharp blood drop as well as trauma from burns. And that was too much for his already overworked system. Hands still frozen out in the last position they had held the Thunderseal, Ky's eyes widened and his mouth loosened. A blank stare went to his gaze…before his strength gave way. He collapsed down onto his knees, his arms falling loosely at his side. His head bowed forward and landed on his chest. Once there, however, his own natural body position seemed to hold him up.

Sol kept his sword out, looking at the kneeling Ky for a brief moment. His sword finished smoldering, burning the last of Ky's blood off of it. After that, however, he let out a large exhale himself and began to breathe heavier. He brought up the back of his hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. He shifted his fingers down a bit to his nose afterward, and with a pinch and a sharp jerk reset it. Swallowing his dry throat, he turned and started to walk away…

The sound of something hitting the ground made him freeze…something from Ky's direction.

Sol suppressed a sigh.

_Damnit, Ky…quit while you're still breathing…_

He turned back to the knight…but saw that he wasn't fighting. He seemed to have used his last bit of strength to push back…get himself off of his knees. Now, with his legs crumpled in an upward position, and his back on the ground, he closed his eyes and swallowed.

"…I only…kneel before God…" He explained with a strained voice.

Sol stared at him silently, saying nothing.

"…If you're going to kill me…do it now."

"I never wanted to kill you, Ky." Sol flatly answered. "You were the only one out of the two of us."

Ky coughed once, letting out some blood, but then forced a smile.

"…I didn't want to kill you either." He admitted. "That's why…I gave you a chance to surrender… I wanted to bring you in alive… I wanted to know why…you committed your crime…why you live like this…"

Sol didn't respond to this. He stared blankly at Ky, as the knight's breathing began to slow.

"…It's going to be me, Sol…" He spoke out loud. "No one else… I'm going to bring you in…and I'm going to do it alive… I might have tonight…but I lost my temper again… God won't help…a violent man…" The knight stiffly began to go for his robes, seeming to feel for something.

"I'm going on, Ky." Sol interrupted. "I figure that if he wants to do anything with you, he has to come to me now. Get off the island. I don't know what he'll do to you if I fail."

Ky sharply exhaled, and continued to feel for something. He seemed to grab it, but then started to pull it out from his robe pocket. Sol didn't wait. He turned back to the well-lit stadium. It was dark now. The stars were out, and the light from the stadium was particularly pale and unwelcoming. Sol couldn't see it yet, but he thought, through the arch, he could see someone already coming out onto the field. He began to walk toward it…

"…This isn't over, Sol…"

The man stopped.

"…It is today."

"No…it isn't." Ky answered back. "Latest…in magical medical technology… Special antibiotic gel and stimulents… Zato-1 beat me up pretty bad this morning…but I was still able to fight you at near full… You better be gone…in ten minutes…or I'll be coming after you again. I've waited too long to let you go…"

Sol hesitated once again. That must have been what he was fishing around for. He could already hear some sort of bottle or container pop open. The man thought of turning around and stopping him, knocking the material away…but then he thought against it. He didn't have time for this. There were more important things going on now than himself and Ky. Besides…so long as Ky had himself patched up, then the Gear couldn't go after him.

Thinking on that note, Sol began to slowly walk forward again, letting his feet crunch the gravel and the grit, as he made his way toward the arch of the stadium again.

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: Atonement...


	22. Atonement

This chapter is, by far, the longest I have written for this fanfiction. I basically told myself that I wanted to be at a certain point when it ended, but it took me far longer than I thought it would to get there. This is also my least favorite chapter. I felt a bit rushed in points to get through it, and I don't think I got the impact I wanted while butchering some things too short. Oh well. I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

**"Atonement"**

* * *

Sol removed his smoldering sword from his chest. The wound was now shut, although he was in a bit more pain for it. However, he had to deal with the trauma. By now, it would be injuries leaching his stamina that would truly be a problem. With that in mind, he continued to make his way under the arch and into the stadium beyond. 

The stadium was still mostly skeletal in the interior…but it was strange. Sol didn't know if the Gear had done this on purpose, or if it was just coincidence, but the ruined old statues of players, the twisted metal, and everything else gave an impression of huge statues looming over him…ones of creatures hanging their heads low, and each one growling and hungry. The fact that the lights went out here didn't help matters at all. It created more darkness and shadow, further exacerbating the feeling of going right into a monster's den. Here, Sol's footsteps echoed rather loudly, throughout the dark catacombs that were formed by the old stadium walls. His grip tightened on his blade, and he was rather pleased to be rid of this place when he finally passed through the other side.

The arch in the stadium led directly to an exit point within the stadium itself. The walls around Sol sharply descended at an angle, making it clear that he was passing through a seating area. He didn't pay so much attention to this as to the floor of the stadium itself, however. In older times, it would have had a railing around it to prevent specators from getting on the field with the players, and it would have had paint marking it out as well as goalposts. All of those had been removed; some of it broken and some of it destroyed. The central region, where there had once been Astroturf, had been scarred and burned from where damage had happened almost a hundred years earlier. The remaining turf had been torn up, revealing a fairly smooth stone layer beneath it…with the exception of the center. There, two metal panels seemed to cover up a large circular space.

As Sol moved out from the aisle and to the surrounding stonework, each click of his boots was magnified and sent back to him. Here, he could hear the wind. It happened as a result of the aucoustics. They were magnified and reflected back to him as he made his way through. The light was brighter here…harsher. He looked around the facility as he walked along, looking for signs of any life or any other modifications. There were none…or if there were, they were hidden. No other sounds came out as he kept on down the aisle. When he reached the bottom, where there used to be a separator, he stopped and looked to the field momentarily. But after that, he took another step out and touched down on the stone. He walked forward another step or so.

Although Sol's own feet were clicking loudly, he soon heard another set of footprints. On hearing this, he stopped where he was and looked up and across the field, expecting to see the host. His grip tightened on the Fireseal as his muscles tensed…

A moment later…and they relaxed again. Sol's expression stayed blank.

Walking out of one of the aisles and onto the field, looking dark and rueful, was Kliff.

He looked a bit messed up and dirty, but his face was as grim as always, his body as tight, and his massive sword balanced over one shoulder. He looked up to Sol, but his face stayed solid and his expression unfriendly. He seemed a bit hesitant as he did so. After a few more steps, he ground to a halt, roughly the same distance in as Sol was.

The old man took in a deep breath. Sol could hear it from his distance due to the stadium. He looked up and out to the man and exhaled a long sigh.

"…I guess you were right one more time, Sol." He called out to him. "I shouldn't have made that promise that we wouldn't fight."

Sol didn't answer. He silently looked back, keeping his hand on his sword and not smiling as he had with Ky.

Kliff sighed again and bowed his head slightly. "…It's Ozzie, Sol. You were right about those Post War sons of bitches. The losers are still alive. He says he'll let them go if I beat you."

"He's lying." Sol flatly responded, without any desperation or hesitation in his voice. "He's going to use my blood to release Justice. Once he's back, he'll kill every human on this island."

Kliff paused here. He seemed to take in what Sol said and regarded it as serious, but he also stared blankly at him without a move. In the end, he moistened his lips and sighed again.

"You're probably right…but it doesn't matter. He'll pool the blood of the ones he's got if he doesn't get you. And there's more to it than that anyway, Sol. He's the closest thing I've ever had to a son before. I can see how much he's changed, but it doesn't matter. I've got to try and get to him. I've got to try and see if I can save anything inside him. If I do this…I'll at least get him to listen to me. Maybe I'll still be able to talk him out of it. I'm sorry."

Sol didn't respond. However…he didn't try to push. Not like how he did with Ky. He didn't have to. He just stared out across that field and saw the look on Kliff's face. When he walked out, when he looked like this…he was like a different man. He had lost much of his spark and energy. His eyes seemed to have sunken in. Though he had never truly looked old before to Sol…it wasn't until now that all of his decades seemed to be weighing heavily on him. Only now did he truly seem worn out and weary.

Though Sol never had a family of his own, he knew why. Until now, Kliff had been sinking into depression. He saw it on the ends of his words and his moods when he wasn't talking. He was coming to the end of his life, he realized that he wasn't getting any younger, and that death wasn't going to be too far off. Yet there was nothing left for him to do. That's why he went on this mission, so that he'd have one last purpose, or a chance to go out in a way besides waiting in a bed to die. However…this changed things. Sol honestly hadn't expected that the boy Kliff once told him about would have grown up to be this. He really didn't know. But now that he was here…it meant that Kliff had something. He had a person worth living and dying for who was close to him. He had something like a family. And as crazy as this was, as pointless and wrong as it was…Sol knew that the bonds of family outdid logic or even what he knew had to be done. He wasn't going to back down.

Seeing all of this, Sol bowed his head once…just to show Kliff that he wasn't happy about this either, but acknowledged it. He held for a moment, as both of them silently recognized what they were about to do. After that…Sol raised his head again, and brought up the Fireseal with it.

Kliff exhaled and tightened his grip on Dragonslayer.

A moment later, and both were taking off for each other.

* * *

_Bloody wonderful… I'm on a damn Ridley Scott movie set… Where's the queen and the eggs?_

Axl Low had not had a good past few days. After being beaten senseless by Millia, nearly gotten himself nabbed by the host, and then drug himself out of that hole he had fallen into, he had nothing but bad luck. He certainly wasn't willing to get into a fight again, but he did try to tail the host regardless, despite how bruised and beaten he was.

Some of the luck that had shafted him all these years must have finally paid up, because he only went a hundred feet before he tripped and fell next to a rather unsuspecting, unremarkable tile. What was lucky about it was that when he did so, he landed in just a way to where he could make out the faintest shine of a piece of glass from under the mossy terra cotta. What was further luck was that he decided not to ignore it but remove the tile and examine it…finding what had to be a camera smaller than any possible in his own time period. Lastly, it had to be luck that the host hadn't seen him do that. He must have still been en route to his "base" or whatever, or maybe looking for another fighter like Millia. At any rate, he quickly smashed the thing and looked out for more.

Axl hadn't found any since. It was pure luck that he found that one. However, assuming them to act like real security cameras, he proceeded to throw himself into the most reedy, obscure, and unremarkable areas of the island. He flattened himself against the ground and moved slowly. If any still pictures were taken of him, he should have been indistinguishable from the rest of the junk in the area. Still, he didn't feel safe. He realized now that he was being watched and had to find a way to stop being watched. To that end, he laid low until dark, and then kept low and in the shadows.

While dodging small mammals and being eaten by bugs, Axl managed to make his way in the same general direction he believed the man was headed. It eventually took him into a forest, and he spent the better part of the today crawling on his belly through it. However, as it grew later, he finally came to something. Axl still could barely recognize his native country, but he saw enough familiar ruins of streets and landmarks to realize he had reached a canal that hadn't historically been there. What more, the thing looked pretty freshly dug, and the water flowed inland. Having no better venue to travel along, Axl found a metal pipe that could act as a snorkel and dove in. Since then, he had slowly been making his way along it.

And now, his luck had yielded one last reward. He followed that path until it took him deep underground, through a vast, fast-moving channel, and out into some sort of hydroelectric complex. The turbines were running on the canal water. And the facility looked somewhat new. Axl realized he might have hit something. Yet that was nothing compared to what he saw next as he moved along. Some sort of bizarre corridor was after it that looked right at home in some Lovecraft story. No longer worried about stealth, he kept his kusarigama out as he made his way down it. Going along, he began to see some sort of root growth coming over everything, with a pale green light coming out from behind it. It wasn't exactly the most lovely sight in the world, and it unsettled him rather badly.

However, Axl kept going. He had to track down this host now. He had a feeling his life depended on it, not just his wish and his chance to go back in time. This host was tracking him and the other fighters for some reason, and he had a feeling that this sort of corridor meant he wasn't the most savory type in this current world. With that in mind, he kept going.

As Axl walked on, he began to notice that there had been some changes recently. Some of the floor was ripped up. There was a lot of water in one area where the ceiling had been punctured. A huge pipe that had been buried beneath the strange vegetation was there, lying on the ground. It looked like there had been some action recently, yet Axl didn't think he had missed the party entirely. With that in mind, he kept going. Something that really annoyed him about this place was that he never seemed to get where he was going. The trail just kept weaving and weaving ahead of him…

However, just as Axl was starting to think of this, something did break. Just up ahead, he noticed that the corridor ended, going into a widening area. Seeing that, he tightened his grip on his weapons, and continued to move along. Just a bit farther along, and he made it to the entrance and passed inside.

Immediately, the Brit halted as his eyes widened as he let out an explicative.

This must have been the control room. It had enough devices inside it that Axl didn't understand. He did see one area that looked like it was where the host had made the worldwide recording, and another area filled with television monitors that looked like where he was watching everything. The roots were especially thick here, making the whole place look like some sort of alien structure rather than a room that had been built by human hands. It was unnaturally quiet in here…and the air felt all wrong. It was cool, but he couldn't tell what kind of ventilation was controlling it. It had a scent on it of some coolant that he couldn't stand. And the weirdest thing of all had to be the things in the center of the room… It looked like some sort of roots that had been strung out between the ceiling and the floor, and some sort of knotted masses were bunched around four of them…

These things caught Axl's interest more than anything. What was he supposed to be doing in there? Growing clones or something? The whole place was freaking him out…but he figured he must have had some "stupid movie character curiosity syndrome", because he wanted to see what it was. With that in mind, he began to round the room and looked at what was there more closely.

As he came around the edge and began to approach the area between the swellings and the console…he slowed to a halt and gaped.

There were _people_ in the things. He could barely tell it, but he could see just an image of a face arising from near the top of each mass. One of the branches from the tree masses had clamped over their mouths like gags, and they were so motionless that Axl instinctively thought that they were dead or just images. It wasn't until he turned around and he noticed that the ones that had their eyes open began to focus on him, one of them looking desperate, that he realized that they were living people inside those.

Needless to say, Axl stood there and let out another explicative, involving some long metal object and himself.

For a moment, Axl thought his worst nightmares had come true. The host was growing clones or copies of himself, or these were some sort of grotesque pod people from outer space. It didn't take long to dispel that thought, however. He noticed that the skin was different on many of them, and that two were male and one was female. One, eyes closed and seeming dead or unconscious, was a massive one enclosed in a rather large mass. The next one down was a male with paler skin who looked rather beaten up. The third was female, younger, and seemed to be especially desperate. The last one…had cold blue eyes…and her eyebrows were a certain blond color. The look that he saw in her eyes was familiar…

Axl turned his head slightly to the last one.

"…Millia? Millia Rage of the psycho hair that tried to rip me a new one?"

Millia could only tighten her eyes in frustration and make the slightest noise. That was all she was permitted to do.

Axl looked around a bit at the situation. He didn't know what to make of this…but if Millia was here then that meant that these had to be fighters. For a moment…he considered ignoring them. After all, Millia had tried to kill him…even though he had picked the fight. There was no guarantee that they weren't going to pound him all into pudding if he let them go. Maybe this was some futuristic prison system…

However…Axl's inner instincts told him that was bull. This wasn't natural. And the younger woman looked almost to be pleading with him. He didn't care what was going on. For all he knew, these things were going to keep growing around them until they crushed them. And that was too sick for his tastes, no matter the cause. Besides…he didn't want to run around here alone.

With that in mind, Axl let out an exhale, and looked around to the three conscious ones.

"Alright chums…I'm gonna bust you out. Just remember that I could've left you all here to be fertilizer before attacking me…"

Axl gave them a look over once, and finally settled on the beaten up man. The girl looked the most desperate, but this one seemed the most hurt. And he certainly wasn't letting Millia out first… He moved over to him and raised his sickle. This would be just like chopping up hedges…

Once he was there and began to pick out a branch to strike…he started to hear something from above. He turned his head back up, and saw that the beaten man's eyes had filled with desperation. He couldn't move, it appeared, but he was faintly able to make sounds that seemed as if he was telling him not to do this. Axl's eyebrows furrowed, but he stopped in what he was doing. After a moment, he moved his sickle up to the branch lashed around the man's mouth. He'd find out what he was talking about before going any further. He barely managed to notice the man struggling even more than before as he hooked his end around the branch and yanked, severing it immediately.

Almost instantly…Axl saw the entire mass of branches contract in a good few inches. The man's mouth was freed only enough so that his face could twist into agony and scream. Axl shot back with wide eyes at what was going on.

"They're…crushing…!" Was all the man managed to get out through an agonized face before some of the branches tightened around his throat and cut off his air. Moments later, and another one whipped out and gagged him again. Only this time, it wasn't keeping him quiet. It was killing him.

Axl could only remark one thing.

"…Sh't."

Immediately, he raised his sickle and began to slice furiously at the branches that were contorting around him. He cut through a few…only to see them immediately spring new branches which came out and wrapped around him even more strongly than before. In a second, the man's face was blue…not just from air but from his blood being cut off in every area close to skin around his body. He was going to be squished into jelly. Axl's eyes grew wide and his face grew desperate. He had to get him out of this now…

Axl looked up and down quickly…and noted the two halves of the original root over and below him. He quickly thought back to the other places. They had the same without these root prisons… They had to all come from these…

Axl had no time to think. Immediately, he focused his pyrokinesis into both ends of his sickle, spreading it down the chain as well. He threw out both ends with flicks of his wrist, and wrapped them around the top and bottom root. Focusing as much as he could into them, making the pieces of his weapon begin to turn red from the heat, he grabbed the middle of the chain and yanked with all his might. The chain was ripped around the edges of the root and with it the sickle. The burning heat, combined with the sharpness of the sickle, cut through after a few moment's resistance.

The bundle of branches toppled to the ground, the man's face down first. Axl was frozen a moment, gaping back at the ends of the root. He almost seemed to see it _writhe_, and thought he actually heard it give a cry. However, the bottom half soon went dead and stiff. The top half thrashed about…before it seemed to pull through the ceiling. Axl began to wonder if he had just imagined that or if he really had cut apart some sentient thing…before he turned back down to the bundle. It wasn't moving…and he could tell that the branches, although they weren't tightening anymore, were now locked in their tight position.

Seeing this, Axl quickly dove down, keeping the blades of his sickles hot, and went to where the man's head was. He moved quickly and savagely, like trying to kill a topiary. It was dangerous with how hot his sickles were…but he figured the man would forgive a few burns if he saved his life. It seemed to take forever to cut down to anything, although it only had to be a few seconds. But gradually, he began to see a shock of white hair deep within the branch nets, and below it…several rings of branches looped around the neck region… Axl, ignoring any potential for burn, dipped his scythe down and ripped them all open with one mighty cut.

A huge sniffing sound resulted as the nostrils of the man flared. Hearing this, Axl realized he was still gagged. He continued to slice around that region, loosening dead branches but letting few of them go, until he finally heard a gasping sound. Even after that, it was labored and pained. The man was being crushed all over his body. Axl had to go down and start hacking away at his chest region before he could even breathe correctly. However, each slice extended his life by a bit more, giving Axl more time. He saw the man's flesh expand as he cut away the coils around it, showing how compressed it had been. Even as he freed him, the man could only breathe. He hadn't the strength to assist in freeing himself. And so, Axl had to cut more and more away from him. The entire array was in a reinforcing net. Axl had to do a fair amount of yanking as well as slicing to get the things fully off of him.

Only when he had freed most of the man's upper chest and was moving to his limbs did he managed to hear a hoarse, American voice.

"I was telling you…not to cut…" He gasped. "These things…he said…they'd crush…if we tried to escape…"

"Sorry 'bout that, mate. He didn't leave the instruction manual handy." Axl answered as he kept cutting, not caring at the moment who "he" was.

"Body's…numb…" The man went on. "Cut off…circulation…"

"Just take a few more deep breaths while I finish up, alright?" Axl continued.

It was a few more minutes before Axl managed to fully free his arms. Each finger had branches wrapped around it like creeper vine. He was still cleaning off his arms by the time the man managed to start moving his own digits, and weakly tried to help free himself.

"Mind tellin' me how you got caught in the Martian Man Trap?" Axl asked.

"Gear bastard…" The man answered in a clearer voice. "After I lost to that one guy…he beat me up and brought me here. He was trying to drain my blood to free more Gears…same with the rest of us…" He paused, but then snorted. "Said this was the 'losers' bracket…"

Axl couldn't help but frown as he finally made it to the man's legs. More of those Gear things, things he knew next to nothing about. All he could gather was that they were bad and that they probably shouldn't be around them. He thought they were all gone now, but obviously he was wrong. He didn't know how the heck he was ever going to get out of this…

"So, who are you, kid?" Axl said as he moved to the lower legs.

The man was about to answer, before he looked up and glared at him. "I can't be younger than you by more than a few years."

"Well I'll be calling you that again if you don't tell me your name."

The white-haired man rolled his eyes. "…Chipp Zanuff."

"Well, Chipp…" Axl said as he finished cutting his legs apart and went to the feet. "We're buggin' out of here, because I make a habit of not stickin' 'round places with plants that make noise when you stab 'em. _After_ we cut the rest of you out!" Axl threw in this last part to the others, because the younger woman made noise when he began to talk about leaving. "Let's just get the blonde last. She packs a mean right… And since you knew enough to tell me not to just hack my way in, I don't suppose you know how to get out of these things the easy way, do you?"

Chipp frowned and shook his head. "The son of a bitch made it so that if you try to get out, it kills you."

"Guess we'll have to do it the hard way, then." Axl continued as he finished cutting out Chipp's feet. The white-haired man kicked off the rest as Axl began to stand up and turned to the others. "Alright ladies and gents…I'm gonna need you all to hold your breath and brace yourselves. Me and my new accomplice Chipp here will work as fast as we-"

"You can't do that." Chipp answered as he began to rise to his own feet, albeit slowly and with pained movements. As he winced, Axl turned back to him, and he explained. "Only reason I survived long enough for you to cut me out…was because Tsuyoshi taught me a breathing technique…and how to loosen up my joints… Would have suffocated or died from trauma if I hadn't. Some other bigger guys might survive, but I doubt the girl will."

Axl heard this and frowned. With a sigh, he lowered his arm to help Chipp up. The man hesitated on seeing it for a moment. He seemed to be naturally untrusting. However…in the end he took it and let Axl begin to pull him.

"Well that's bloody perfect. How are we supposed to get them out, then?"

"I'm pretty good with a blade and cutting techniques." Chipp answered. "If these branches are like animals, I can probably cut it in a way to siphon off its reserves before it can start struggling. I just need my blade first."

"Well where is that?" Axl asked as Chipp finally got on his feet, though he wavered a bit.

The man turned and began to point to the wall. "He stuffed our weapons over-"

Chipp didn't finish his sentence. As Axl looked…both he and Chipp began to turn about as white as the latter's hair.

The Brit let out another explicative as fear gripped both of their hearts, as well as those of the rest of the prisoners.

A seven-foot tall, skeletal insect of a man was hunched over where the weapons had been placed, behind a series of roots on the back wall. One of his long, spindly hands was pulling out what looked like half of a broken gigantic scalpel. His small eyes looked out from a bloody forehead and nose, while a large mouth grinned hungrily and drool dripped from his teeth.

* * *

Kliff swung his sword out for Sol's leg. Quickly, Sol twisted the Fireseal down, intercepted the blade, and then used the mass and power of Kliff's own sword to swing his body over the blade and to the opposite side. Once there, he quickly advanced on the old man again…but not as fast as he normally would have. The intention was to only strike a mild blow, but the result was that Kliff was able to bring his heavy sword back and deflect two of Sol's hits. 

As soon as that was done, Kliff used his powerful legs to leap partially into the air. When he did, he brought his sword back around around as he performed a front flip, turning himself into a great metal cutter of death. Sol quickly backed up once to avoid the initial slash, and then again as, when Kliff landed, he drove his huge blade downward and pounded a massive slice into the ground. Stone and concrete fractures and shot up in huge pieces as Sol stepped back once more to avoid the hit.

Once it died down, Sol darted back in thrusting with his blade. Again, he took it slow, and as a result Kliff was able to get his sword back up and intercept the incoming hits. Still, he backed up as Sol advanced on him, and the man thought he had the advantage for a moment. That didn't last, however…for Kliff finally managed to twist his blade around and on top of the Fireseal, pinning it against the ground along with the Dragonslayer…

* * *

"Go for your sword. I'll hold the bugger off." 

"Are you sure?"

"Hell no, but do it anyway!"

Millia seethed a bit around the branch that was in her mouth. He was still a fool…but he was a brave fool at least. And it looked like there was one less person she had killed in her life. Of course, him staying alive might be over in a few moments. The spindly man…creature…looked rather strong and crazy as he licked his lips, dropped to all fours, and began to creep toward Axl. The British-dressed man quickly held up both sickles and began to rotate one. The one called Chipp backed off a bit. That was one good thing about this arrangement. Axl was right. He was the only one who could fight. Chipp looked like something stuck between one's teeth.

Abruptly, the crazed one leapt forward like some sort of strange predator. As he did so, one arm lashed out and smacked the hand of Axl that was rotating the chain. It was hard and stunning, and he dropped his end of the weapon as a result. His massive body went over him, connected with his, and began to push him to the floor. As it did, he raised the arm with the remaining scalpel and positioned it over his head…

Yet just as they connected, with one arm and two legs of the madman pinning Axl down, his one free hand with the one free sickle managed to hook the scalpel end and divert it. It cut a gash across his scalp, removing his bandanna, but then imbedded in the floor. As his blond hair was exposed and began to turn red, Axl ignored it and struggled with the man thing. As for Chipp, hobbling as fast as he could, he began to go for the weapons.

_They're dead…_ Millia thought.

Luckily, she hadn't been planning to rely on anyone to rescue her. Trying not to think about the fight that was going on as Axl somehow managed to flip the huge psycho off of him, she focused instead on her work. The branches might be able to fight back against someone struggling, but there was a threshold for which they did nothing. If they didn't, the action of breathing would have set them off. And so…as silent and gently as a passing breeze…Millia had gone about lengthening her hair. Slowly and surely, she made it slip through the roots and branches that surrounded her. The enclosure was hardly airtight, and she was able to do so fairly easily. As she moved out, she had the hair go around each and every branch that enveloped her body, looping it around several times, before making it grow harder and stronger. There were hundreds to perform this on, and keeping her focus on each one was a tremendous strain. But it was the only way out. She believed that Gear. There was no other way.

Chipp managed to make it to the branches. He dipped behind it, and a moment later came out with a long blade. It had some sort of gauntlet on the back of it, and he began to fasten this to his wrist. As he did, Axl, still dueling with the psychopath, lashed out with his kusarigama chain and wrapped it around the upper body of the thing. He slammed his arms to his chest and pinned him…but only for a moment. The psycho grinned madly before leaning over, opening his huge mouth, and actually _biting_ the chain around him before snapping his head back. As a result, Axl, to his shock, was ripped off of his feet and cast back toward the bald lunatic. As soon as he was in range, he smashed his bony head into his own forehead, sending Axl staggering back as he began to loosen the chain that had held him.

As the crazed man threw the chain off and leapt on Axl, stabbing at him the whole way, Chipp got up, turned, and ran back to the rest of the prisoners. He did as Axl told him and didn't try to free Millia, instead going for the girl next. Millia grit her teeth and thought, _Typical._ Yet she didn't hold that way long. She had her own task to go about. She was nearly done now. As she finished encircling the last branch, she moved her control up to the upper and lower connections. She'd have to sever those. Axl's freeing of Chipp had proven that.

Meanwhile, Axl dodged sharply backward and barely missed the lunatic slicing his belly open. After the latest hit, he had lost both ends of his chain and was now unarmed. Drooling and raving the whole way, the hungry man followed after him, swiping at his head and forcing him further and further back, toward the monitoring area. Axl's face began to pale and sweat as blood ran into his eyes and he continued to run out of room. At last, his back finally hit the console. When it did, the madman grinned in delight and prepared for a crucial stab. Axl, desperate, felt behind him for a few moments before his hands finally grasped something. As the lunatic drove his weapon forward, Axl snapped up a keyboard from the console and aimed it like a shield in front of him. The scalpel pierced it a moment later, and instantly began to rip through. But before it could completely, Axl twisted it downward and managed to deflect the madman's blow. The fury seemed to abate for a moment from the spindly figure's face…and the pause was all Axl needed to shoot forward and wrap one hand around his lapel. Not giving him a chance to recover, Axl began to smash him in the face. Blood flew out from each blow.

As a tooth joined the splatter, Chipp was going to work. He was sweating and weak, but he was moving fast. He was going around the prison that had the girl, and was cutting into the branches and roots that held her up. Each slice was smooth and quick, so much so that Millia knew she wouldn't have even felt it had it been her. But each one inflicted a deadly wound, one cut in such a way that it would not be able to heal or regenerate quickly, even for this plant. Soon, sap, like some sort of thick blood, was beginning to ooze out of several points.

"WAAH!"

This sound, more like an animal hiss than a voice, alerted both Chipp and Millia. As the woman finished tightening her hair in the last few points, she turned back to the madman. His face was a mess of blood, his nose was crushed, and his mouth was dribbling blood…but that hadn't stopped him from dodging a blow of Axl and leaping into his chest. He had wrestled the man to the ground, and was now getting up and over him. He had him pinned again under his legs, and as the British-clothed man struggled to push him back, he put both hands on his scalpel and prepared to plung it through his head.

Before he could, however…Axl's hands went down again and fumbled. The man must have been lucky…because his hand went over the chain for his kusarigama. Quickly, he raised it up and lashed out, wrapping it around the back of the man's neck. He gave one snap to yank it down, and then quickly looped it around the neck before he reached up with both hands and pulled with all of his might. The madman was instantly choked, frozen before he could give the fatal stab. Struggling to hiss, he clutched at his throat for a moment to try and remove the chain. Yet that was only for a second…before he went back to his scalpel and drove it down. This blow was more erratic, however, and Axl was able to move his head out of the way, letting it strike the ground instead. The madman quickly stabbed again, forcing Axl to shift to the other side…

Seeing this was getting nowhere, the madman removed one hand from his scalpel and tried something else. He lashed out and grasped Axl's neck instead, pinching off the critical points. After that, he just sat and waited. Axl's eyes were wide, and his face was full of strain, but he didn't let go to pull them off. He couldn't. He had to keep choking the lunatic and hope he would give out first. However…he only had his windpipe. The madman had the blood vessels. And try as he might, he couldn't hang on. Slowly, his hands began to go limp. The tightening around the madman's neck loosened, and the thing was able to take in a deep breath through his large, grinning teeth. Finally…Axl's hands fell to the ground lifelessly, and he passed out.

Only now did the psycho remove his fingers…and once more raised his scalpel to strike.

Millia swore to herself. She had to move now. She might have had a few minutes left to escape…but the fool had already struggled to save her despite what happened…

With that in mind, and focusing as much as she could, Millia stiffened all strands of her hair and pushed out.

In a flash, the enclosure around Millia suddenly swelled and expanded. A huge ripping or crackling sound came out as the branches and roots around her were forced. Everyone, the psycho included but Axl excluded due to unconsciousness, turned and looked. The sight that they saw was amazing.

Millia was still suspended inside the prison, but now all of the roots and branches that had wrapped around her body were being pushed off by a few inches at every location. Everyone could see that her hair was now interlocked with the enclosure, and was woven everywhere, pushing out at every conceivable angle in an attempt to remove it from the woman. There was just enough space now that you could look in between roots and see what she looked like.

However…the woman herself was already covered in sweat, her face reddening, and stiffening all over. As she desperately worked her hair over the roots at the top and bottom, she was straining her senses to the limit to try and keep herself freed from the prison. The roots around her were squirming as much as they could, struggling to contract and crush her to death. She was using all the strength she could put into her hair to try and keep it off. However…for all of her straining…she was barely able to put any force in the top and bottom. She was barely cutting through. And while she struggled to keep herself safe, straining her body as far as it could go, it was pushing back. It slowly began to contract again as Millia dripped sweat, clenched her teeth, and struggled to free herself… Her brain was on fire, and she strained desperately to keep her mind on resistance. But she was losing the battle…

Chipp picked up on this from where he was with the girl. He turned back to her for an instant, and saw that she was still leaking sap but that the vegetation would take a while to die. He had just finished with her mouth, and the root was withering from there now. However, he also turned and looked back to the madman and Axl. Axl was down for the count, and the psycho suddenly realized it had a newer, more helpless victim. He was already forgetting about the fallen one and headed for Millia.

Seeing this, Chipp's face tightened up. Weak and beaten as he was, he braced his blade in front of him and leapt for the psycho. Millia was barely able to see it through her clenched eyes, especially as the roots continued to contract, but she managed to catch Chipp running at the madman and slicing for his head. However, he was too slow and weak now. The lunatic turned his head down to dodge, and then drove his palm forward and smashed it into Chipp's nose. Blood erupted from his nostrils as the white-haired man flew back to sprawl out on the ground. He didn't get up right away, but simply lay there and moaned as he tried to regain his bearings.

The psycho was left to look back to Millia…now unguarded…

* * *

Sol was forced to dodge backward and then follow it up with a backflip to avoid Kliff's latest assault. The man advanced on him swinging his blade in large circles over his head, coming dangerously close to slicing into Sol's upper torso or higher. However, he was forced to pause after this. As his blade came down, he let it rest at his side, while his eyes looked dark, his brow was covered with sweat, and he panted. 

As a result, he was relatively open for Sol when the man swung his blade at the ground and released a ground wave of fire. It traced a flaming line toward Kliff immediately, and the old man was forced to cut his breather short and dodge or be scorched by it. However, as soon as he sidestepped, he looked back up and saw that Sol was advancing for him again. His sword was out and prepared to slash. He had no time to move before he was on him. An instant later, and Sol was bringing the blade down on his head.

Kliff panted but was able to bring up his sword and deflect the Fireseal upward. With that done, however, he quickly kept his arms in that up position, leveled one of his elbows at Sol, and charged as fast as he could. When he came in and impacted, he drove the elbow as hard and deep as he could into Sol's solar plexus. The man's eyes actually widened a bit, and wind rushed from his lungs, as he flew back from the impact and staggered. Kliff, seeing a new opening, raised his blade and pursued…

* * *

Millia could feel the man's breath as he came up to her. She saw him start to raise the scalpel, aiming through the tightening branches for her. Her own strength was starting to ebb. She was pushing with everything…but still losing the struggle. Soon she'd be overwhelmed…and crushed. She could already feel how high the pressure was… And still, the damn roots overhead and below weren't moving. Her stamina was almost gone. She had lost too much from her fights. She couldn't hold it… 

_Damnit…cut, damn you!_

Gritting her teeth, slamming her eyes shut, and straining so much that she felt her brain start to ache as her face turned purple…Millia forced her hair to become even sharper and tear viciously into the roots. For a brief second, it still wouldn't come, and the tightness began to push her body back in to crush it… But then, with a cry out of one final act of pain and desperation, the hair slashed through the end of the roots, and immediately the prison was released.

As Millia toppled forward, forcing the madman to leap back, the roots surrounding her struggled for only a moment more before going lifeless. And when that happened…immediately branches were torn asunder and flung in every direction as the last bit of her hair's power came out. Chipp was still on the ground, but weakly covered his eyes and face as pieces of wood and vine splashed over his body and on his face. The girl closed her eyes and grit her own teeth. No one really noticed it immediately…but since the vine on her mouth had been leeched until now, it snapped off from her biting on it. As the branches finished coming, the girl opened her eyes and mouth, and the former gag fell off. The rest of her enclosure was slowly wilting, although she was still quite restrained for the moment, and many places were still alive and thriving.

As the branches died down, however…Millia collapsed on the ground. Her body was soaked with sweat, her face was still bright red, and her muscles were lifeless. Her eyes closed and she gasped, struggling to catch her breath. It had literally taken her everything she had left to free herself. She might have avoided being crushed and stabbed while helpless…but now she was as helpless as she had been before. Her brain was on fire, and she couldn't even calm down enough to writhe.

That left the psychopath still standing and able to move.

The madman had put his arms in front of his face to guard him on initial eruption. However, now that the chaos had died down, he slowly removed them. His beady, crazed eyes moved away and down, and saw the source of the blast. He also seemed to see that she wasn't going anywhere.

Again, the grin grew wide and ravenous. One of his long, spindly arms stretched out and reached for Millia's skull. It soon clamped down on top of it, seizing her by the scalp and hair. Very weakly, the ends of some of her golden locks raised, but other than that nothing. She didn't move in any other way as the psycho, seemingly easily, began to lift her off the ground by her head. He maneuvered the scalpel forward toward her chest. He let the blade rest just on her clothing, and began to move it around, looking for a crucial spot in which to cut. Millia's eyes barely cracked open. Chipp struggled to roll back onto all fours, and succeeded after much effort, but was too weak to go any further…

The scalpel dipped in, pierced the clothing, and drew a single drop of blood…

"Stop it!"

At that…the madman froze. His head snapped up from his latest victim, and looked up and over to the source of the noise.

Still inside her half-wilted prison, the girl's face looked out desperately to the psychopath. She wasn't pleading…she had simply done the only thing she could think of in a final attempt to get him to stop.

However…on seeing her face…his beady eyes seemed to widen slightly. The grin quickly fell off of his face. It twisted into a look of horror instead. A clatter rang out on the ground as the scalpel fell out of his hand, and Millia's body was roughly dropped from the other a moment later. They then became loose and began to reach for his face, almost looking like in a gesture of terror. His lower lip quivered as he began to back up.

"No…" He spoke out in a wistful, desperate voice. It quickly began to grow in volume and desperation. "No… No! Leave me alone! _Leave me alone! I never wanted to kill you! LEAVE ME ALONE!"_

The girl stared dumbly on, her face twisted in confusion. Chipp was up a bit now, and looked out with much the same expression. As they watched, the madman began to cringe in on himself, seeming to twist into a ball on his own body. He kept his hands covered over his mouth, aghast and mortified. His words turned into a desperate scream…one of anguish and terror and misery. It went from human to animal…and then became some sort of shrill whine. He squealed and moaned as he continued to back up, as if the girl was something inhuman and monstrous… He trembled all over, continuing to shrink back…

Until, at long last, a blond-haired, bloody head popped up from behind him.

Axl, now conscious again and looking rather furious, reached out with one of his hands and seized the lunatic by the shoulder. Surprise suddenly streaked over his face, and his hands went down as he was roughly turned around. When he did turn to face Axl, however, he only had a brief moment of time to see the man raise one of his fists, now having his chain and sickle wrapped around it several times, and smashed it as hard as he could into the lunatic's face. The head snapped back, but Axl kept it steady with his other hand. He quickly smashed it again. And again, sending blood flying. And again, sending two more teeth flying.

Axl continued to beat him in the head again and again…and with each punch let out a strained word.

"When…I…beat….you…down…I…want…you…to…stay…down…you…crazy….bastard!"

With each hit, blood splurted upward. Soon, Axl's fist was covered with it. The sounds of bones crunching rang out. The lunatic tried to raise his hands…but every time he began to do so Axl smashed him in the face again. He kept doing it, and with each strike the madman's reactions grew weaker and weaker. But even when they stopped together, and his arms went totally limp, he continued to punch again and again and again…

Finally, Axl released. The bloody, broken remains of the madman's face sank like a stone along with the rest of the body to the floor. The girl immediately winced and shut her eyes, no doubt disgusted by the sight. Axl himself too a moment to pant and recover before he looked at what he had done. When he did, his appearance grew incredulous. In confusion he looked to his own hand, wondering if it was possible for him to have done it. It was hard for anyone to make out what most of the injuries were. What wasn't smashed in the face was swollen to the point of disfigurement. Most of the teeth were gone…and he was perhaps choking on some of them. The jaw looked fractured in at least two places. The nose was just a bloody smear. Last but most horrible of all…part of the skull was actually indented. Axl had smashed in part of his brain.

Millia was just starting to recover now, able to open her eyes and look. The room stayed silent, however, looking at the fallen individual. The woman herself had to recover a bit more before she could actually process what she was seeing, but she eventually realized that the long, spindly madman was down for the count…if not for the burial plot…and that Axl's hand was dripping lots of blood among other things… Despite all of this…though she couldn't tell it if was just a trick of the eyes…she thought she actually saw the man still breathing…

"Damn…" Axl remarked. "I think I lost it…"

"It was him or us." Millia grunted from her position, keeping her head down. "I would have killed him if I had been you."

Axl looked up to Millia as she started to spread her arms on the ground to push herself up. He frowned a bit and quirked an eyebrow. "I'm kinda glad I'm not you, lady…"

"She's still right." Chipp spoke up, turning Axl's attention back to him. The white-haired man still looked sore, but he was able to start rising once again. Soon he was on his feet and beginning to slowly straighten. "He was crazy. Killing a crazy man to defend yourself isn't the same as murder."

"Can somebody please cut me out the rest of the way?"

The three, including a weakened Millia, turned and looked back up. It was the girl again. She was still mostly enclosed by the roots, but she appeared to be calmer now, and also more whining and irritated. However, no one was that upset about it right now. Whatever effect she had on the psycho, it saved their lives.

"Yeah, I'm coming." Chipp answered with a weary nod. Soon, he was walking back over to her. Once at her side, he once again went to work. This time, he began to cut some of the more dried stalks. They weakly tried to respond, but were too drained to do so. It still took a long time, and while he was working Axl fully recovered. Soon after, Millia began to lift off from the ground as well. Axl came over to her, hesitated, but then leaned over a bit and offered a hand, smiling. Millia looked up to him coldly, and then slapped it away.

"I'm still angry at you about that fight." Millia icily answered. "And for all I knew, you would have left me here to rot."

Axl frowned and backed off. He sighed and crossed his arms. "Geez, lady… Get to a proct and have them yank that curling iron out of your bum hole already…"

Millia didn't answer. She looked back down and, with some difficulty, managed to push herself up and to her feet in one fast movement. She seemed to get dizzy from this and wavered slightly, and in response her hair lengthened and leaned out to try and balance her. Once she finally was steady, it shrank back and became normal again. She paused there and breathed heavy, still out of wind and struggling to steady her headache.

Meanwhile, more and more vines fell from the girl. What looked like some sort of orange and black pirate outfit began to become clear. Soon enough were off that it looked as if she could have broken through the rest of the way. Nevertheless, she didn't move. Millia couldn't blame her. The slightest gesture might get the main root encircling her again. At any rate, she'd be free soon. Whatever the man was doing, it seemed to be working against the prison. She might learn a lesson from his technique…

"Alright." Axl stated as he saw Chipp coming to a close. "Do you want to start pruning the big guy? Or do you think he's strong enough to let me do it? Or you think maybe…"

_Crrrack…DOOM._

Everyone snapped around at once. Even the girl did. Luckily, her head and neck were entirely free at this point, and there was no risk of her prison entrapping her again. Millia's own stoic, cold face momentarily melted as her eyes widened. She had never seen anything like that before. She knew that her own hair had been taxed to the limit when she had escaped. So seeing this was rather remarkable…

The giant was free. Until now, Millia was aware that he had been asleep the whole time, or more likely unconscious. Yet now, it seemed as if he had awakened and not liked his situation. Unlike Chipp and herself, who had struggled madly and with every fiber of their being to break their restraints, being unable to move any normal muscles…the giant's own huge body and strength made him rip free of the top and bottom roots with his first move. He tore out most of the moorings with them. Now, they were wriggling and shrinking back into the ground, and his own bindings, now dead, were being snapped and pulled off one by one by his massive hands.

The huge man looked around a bit in confusion. He seemed to be a bit sore or disorientated. He gazed at his restraints in puzzlement as well as the control center for a few seconds.

After that…he turned his head over to the others.

Millia began to stiffen her hair. Chipp raised his blade to the ready. Axl started to raise his kusarigama…but then seemed to contemplate how useful such a weapon would be against such a hulk, and seemed to swallow.

Yet the girl was the worst of all, turning as white as a sheet.

"Oh no… I didn't know he had captured _you!_"

* * *

The Fireseal and Dragonslayer remained locked for a moment, twisting one way and the other as Kliff, small though he was, advanced on Sol. He continued to stay balanced, however, and kept up with the pushing. He broke free once and slashed two more times at Kliff, but each blow was deflected before the blades locked again. The twisting was more ferocious now, and the swords rotated and smacked against the ground twice, once on either side. 

Kliff was red-faced, sweating, soaking his clothing, and practically wheezing. But still, he kept fighting. He brought his sword back up abruptly and shoved. Despite his size and how much he had been fighting, and how strained he looked now, he managed to push Sol backward. He himself used the push to launch himself back, getting some distance between the two of them. Once he was there, he leveled his gaze at the man, turned his blade down to aim at him, and leapt forward in a lunging thrust. Sol saw this coming, and quickly leapt back a bit more before swinging his weapon down and smacking the end of Dragonslayer, deflecting it downward. He advanced to put his foot on top and use the size of the blade to push it down…

But before he could, Kliff picked up on this and yanked back. Immediately, the sword was pulled back and out of the way, and Sol's foot clamped down on nothing. Once this was done, the old man quickly raised his blade up, over his head, and behind his back, and advanced on Sol again. A moment later, and he swung his entire massive blade down with everything he had. The move was fast and powerful, and Sol had to react quickly to bring his own blade up over his head to keep it from cleaving him in half. The two weapons locked, letting out a small shower of sparks, and held. Sol's arms buckled a bit, but then he held on. There they were, with Sol blocking the overhead chop, seeming to brace both of his arms under his sword while his legs locked, and Kliff swinging down, sweating and straining but still going.

It seemed it would be a duel of strength now. Even Sol was starting to look tired from the fight at this point, although Kliff seemed far worse and was breathing far more heavily. However…the clash didn't last.

Abruptly, Sol darted to the side and out of the way. He swung his blade over and down, guiding Kliff's own strike to sail past him and strike the ground, embedding the tip in it partially. With that done, the blade was temporarily stuck. Kliff's eyes widened at what happened, and he turned and looked to the younger-looking man.

In response, Sol, his own weapon now free, flung his blade at the ground and emitted a blast of smoke. A line of fire was soon headed straight for Kliff. The old man saw it and tried to react, but it was too late. As he pulled his blade out to guard…the flaming line hit him and erupted. An explosion of fire went off right underneath his feet, sending flames roaring around him and blowing up the ground around him. Giving out a cry of pain as the fire singed him, Kliff staggered back, thrown off balance and now trying to adjust with his sword and older, tired senses.

Seeing this, however, Sol paused only for a fraction of a second before taking off for him, moving to end the battle…

* * *

_Doctor…_

Fautus Baldhead heard the voice. It was faint and in the darkness, but he heard it. He heard it because he remembered that voice. He couldn't forget it no matter how hard he tried. And he kept hearing it. He heard it in his dreams, both at night and during the day. He heard it whenever he had a moment to himself. He heard it whenever he tried to think of anything besides violence and death. It wouldn't leave him.

At first, it was small…faint…faraway… It wasn't yet to him, and from this far one could almost think that it was just his tortured mind again casting a hallucination. It could have just been on the breeze or the wind, or random neurons in his brain making an incorrect association. He prayed that it was, assuming that God would still listen to him pray for anything…

_Doctor…_

Dr. Baldhead felt his body tense up. He felt a cold chill rippling through his flesh. He began to shake uncontrollably. It was her. It was always her. She was back again…

"Leave me alone…" He moaned. He couldn't scream at her this time. He hadn't the strength. He couldn't even cry properly. His face was beaten to a pulp. He could barely moan the words out. However, it didn't matter if he could say them or not. He knew what he had said. He knew she could hear him. "Please…leave me alone…let me die…"

_Doctor Baldhead…_

"Go away…please go away!" Dr. Baldhead yelled with all the strength he could manage. It sounded more like an animal moan instead, and the pain was too much for him. Too many of his ribs were broken. He was bleeding internally at this point. His jaw was fractured in four places. Moving it hurt even more. He had to relax. Normally he would run now…run or hide. But he could do neither. He was too beaten and broken. No running or hiding this time.

"I just want to die…" He slowly moaned. "Please…kill me… They wouldn't kill me… I waited for three years for them to kill me, but they wouldn't… After all I did…they wouldn't end it… I don't want to anymore… Just kill me… Please…"

_Doctor Baldhead…_

The voice was much closer now. It sounded like it was on someone walking to him. Though his vision was already foggy and blurred, Dr. Baldhead slammed his eyes shut. He weakly tried to raise his long arms and put his hands over them. He didn't want to see it. He couldn't stand to see it anymore. He had filled his mind with violence and sadism…with countless dead, horrible bodies…inhuman operations…all forms of barbarism…just so that he could push that one image out. He had meant to make those other visions. He never meant to make _that_ one…

He wanted to run again. He wanted to hide. But he was too weak. He couldn't escape it now. It was catching up for him. The vengeful ghost had come for his soul. He'd get what he deserved for his first crime. He had done it with only good intentions…and yet that sin he feared being punished the most. But it was the first. He had to suffer…and he couldn't run from the reaper any longer…

"Please…go away…go away or kill me… I can't…I can't…"

_Doctor Baldhead._

Quivering, puffy eyes filling with tears, fat lips trembling, Dr. Baldhead stayed in his position of cringing…as he heard the voice as clear as day, and as real and constant as if she was still alive. And yet…something was different. Something he had never noticed before.

The voice wasn't angry. It wasn't desperate. It was slow, calm…even pleasant.

A touch came out and rested on his large, trembling fingers. It wasn't harsh or cold or blood-covered. It was warm…alive…comforting… When Dr. Baldhead felt it, he actually felt his trembling cease. Some of his fear faded. He began to feel warm over the rest of his body. His numerous injuries didn't hurt as much. He felt calmer. He felt…clearer. It was like the touch of a caring person cradling an injured baby deer, letting it know through pure physical action that there was nothing to be afraid of.

And because of this…despite his terror…despite his thoughts that this was a trick…Dr. Baldhead was able to pull his hands away from his face. His small, squinting eyes blinked once and twice as they opened up. His vision was still fuzzy. What wasn't due to him having lost his glasses was due to his brain trauma. Everything was lost in a gray mist. Everything…save one person.

She was as clear as day…as real and warm as she was before the operation. There were no lacerations. No blood. No organs. She wasn't some zombie come back from the dead to haunt him. She looked exactly as she had during their last operation. No…better. The sickness that had made her pale and weak that day was gone. She was healthy now. He pallor was healthy and her frame strong and well filled. Her hair was calmly brushed back and left hanging over the back of her hospital gown. She was kneeling right next to him, her hand over and resting on his. Her eyes weren't piercing or accusing or dead. They were warm and alive. Her mouth wasn't in a frown or scowl, but was in just the vaguest hint of a smile, with a look of knowledge and contentment. Her whole body seemed to radiate with a golden aura.

She was like a heavenly creature…an angel from above. Seeing her, beholding her alive and whole and unspoiled as this…Dr. Baldhead forgot his fear. His terror, his nightmares at having seen her dead again and again, all vanished from memory. His trembling ceased. His puffy eyes blinked in disbelief. His long fingers lowered, and his hands rested on his chest. His mouth opened in awe as he lay back and stared at her. The last of his pain went away as he felt warmer. His tortured, sick thoughts seemed to fade as well. For the first time in years…he was thinking very clearly.

For a while, they just stared. No talking, just Dr. Baldhead staring on at her and beholding the thing he thought he should have feared more than anything, and wondering why he had ever been frightened of her at all. Her hand eventually closed around his, a gentle yet firm grip. The smile faded, and she turned to a look of worried concern.

_Why, doctor?_ She asked, without opening her mouth. _Why are you hurting so many people? Why are you doing this to them? You were a good man. You helped countless people just like me._

Dr. Baldhead blinked again. Nancy's words brought back some reality. They made him replay all of his thoughts of death and sadism…all the horrible atrocities he had committed. And yet…he didn't see them the same way. Now he was seeing them like a man who has long since recovered from a long, painful bout of depression, and looks back years later and views a journal he wrote during that time. He doesn't remember why he felt that way, and is shocked at what he had done. Only in Dr. Baldhead's case…he remembered.

It didn't take long for the doctor's eyes to wince and his face to tighten.

"I…I failed you." He slowly answered as his lip quivered. "No…I did worse than that… I murdered you. I carved you up…"

The girl shook her head.

_I never blamed you for that, Doctor._

Baldhead swallowed, and his eyes began to mist.

"No…that's not it." He went on. "If I had just made a mistake…I would have been alright. But I didn't. I killed you. I butchered you. That wasn't a mistake. I've never made a mistake that bad. It was on purpose. It was horrible. You were an innocent person…and I slaughtered you."

Baldhead swallowed and began to tear. His throat kept tightening. "I thought I wanted to help people…but then I did that. I know I never wanted to help people now. I just wanted to see them bleed. I'm not a doctor. I'm a monster. I couldn't live as a doctor anymore. No one believed in me anymore. I didn't believe in myself. I was meant to be a killer. That's all I am…a natural born killer. All I could do was operate. So I did. I operated in the worst way. I didn't feel right doing anything else. I could only become the monster I was born to be. I thought if I was sick enough…if I killed enough…that someone would kill me. Or God would kill me. Then I would burn…but I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be trapped in life with the desire to operate on people…and knowing that I only wanted to see their insides. I'm sick. I can't live with my sickness…"

Dr. Baldhead pinched his lip here, and began to spasm in the gestures for suppressing crying. Despite his effort, tears began to flow from his eyes. Yet he managed to look up to Nancy. He looked her straight in the eye. He had to…because no matter how much he doubted himself or his psychosis, he believed this.

"But I never wanted to kill you, Nancy. I swear to God I never did. It wasn't me. I swear it wasn't me. It's the thing I became. But I didn't let it out that time, Nancy. It came out on its own. I had nothing to do with it. I wanted to save you. I would have done anything to save you. I would have given you my heart if it would have stopped the bleeding…"

Dr. Baldhead abruptly cut off.

Nancy had raised her hand, brought it over, and let her fingers gently rest on his lips. She was silencing him.

The doctor sniffled again, but also looked up in some confusion at this. He looked to Nancy's eyes. To his surprise…they were sad. They seemed to not be sad for her own death, however…but for him. They looked at him with pity and sadness…as if he was the only person who truly deserved to be cried over here. Baldhead couldn't believe it when he saw that. Was she sorry for him?

_It was never your fault, Doctor. Not for a second._ She told him.

She removed her hand after that, and blinked slowly, as if to express more sadness for Baldhead. To her, he realized he looked like some poor, pathetic, tortured soul that didn't deserve its misery. After that, she turned her head away and to his side. She reached down and grasped something. She pulled it up, and he recognized it. It was his half of his giant scalpel.

While he saw this, however, he turned back to her. He swallowed and shook his head.

"Nancy, please… Don't pity me. I don't deserve it. Not after all I've done."

_Look, doctor._

She stopped and held the scalpel in front of him. Dr. Baldhead would have done anything that Nancy wanted after his crime. Because of this, he immediately was silent and looked to the scalpel. It was still stained with blood. Seeing it made his own curdle. This was the vessel through which he warped what he thought was a gift into a curse. He swallowed as his face grew uncomfortable.

"…Take it away."

_No._ Nancy answered. _Take a closer look. Take a good, long look. Look harder than you ever have at it before._

Baldhead looked up to Nancy for a moment, but saw that she was perfectly serious about this. She was imploring him. He hesitated a moment, but then looked down at the scalpel again. He'd do it if it would make her happy. Although he normally would never have seen it without his glasses, it was clearer than it had ever been now. And he was in a clearer frame of mind than he had been in years.

Nothing much. The end was a bit warped with seven large breaks where the metal had snapped. It had some oily residue on it from his fingertips. The end of the scalpel blade had a least two different kinds of blood on it, and despite how sharp it was had been dented and knicked several times. The fixture was holding strong despite how much strain it had been through. The…

Then…for the first time in years…Dr. Baldhead saw it.

It was more than easy enough to miss. In his crazed delusions, he had looked at his blade countless times. But never did he think of anything except the mechanics. He never had really closely looked and thought about the end. Right where the blade met the rest of the scalpel, right on top of the fixture…he noticed something. A very small, silver square, the exact same color as the rest of his scalpel. It was flat, barely rising off the surface of the fixture. It was easy to assume that it was part of it. The seam was almost invisible.

And it had not been there when he was still a doctor.

As Dr. Baldhead's mouth began to hang open, he slowly raised his hand up to the tool. When he reached it and touched it, Nancy let go and let him have it. Slowly, he brought it back to his body…no longer thinking of its purpose or its blood…but just the square. Once it was close enough, he brought up his other hand, and stuck out a single long fingernail. Using his own practiced skill for something besides murder after all these years, he shifted it down and ran it to the edge of the seam. After a bit of resistance, it slipped underneath. He didn't feel the fixture underneath it.

Dr. Baldhead's eyes widened a bit more…and he ripped out with his fingernail, quickly ripping off the rest of the sticker.

His face went white as his pupils shrank.

His heart froze.

All of the brooding, anger, sadism, and terror of his life for the past few years was blown into a billion pieces.

Tiny, yet recognizable, was a small, circular device resting inside a small nick. It had been concealed under the sticker. He knew what it was immediately. It was a node used for muscle stimulation. Place it on a person undergoing muscular therapy, and it sent a vibrational signal into the neuron to cause it to contract. Any sort of remote device could be programmed to set one off.

Whenever Dr. Baldhead operated, he needed precise and total control. The slightest thing that shifted him off target in a delicate operation would have ruined a patient.

Now…he understood.

"No…" He spoke aloud.

_This is why it happened, Doctor. Dr. Bodkin didn't want to see you succeed. He wanted you to mess up so that he could discredit you. He put this on your scalpel so that it would vibrate when you were trying to cut. It's the reason I died. Not you._

It was as if the world had just ended. Everything that had once been reality was flipped upside down. One small device the size of an eraser head had completely turned Dr. Baldhead's life inside out. That was the real cause. It was never him. He hadn't intentionally made a mistake on the surgery. It was that small device…set to vibrate when he made the cut. He was everything that he was now...because of this.

For the briefest second…Dr. Baldhead flooded with rage. Everything he had ever said as an insult to Dr. Bodkin he now wished he could take back and replace with something a million times worse. To justify himself, the man had as good as murdered Nancy. The whole time, through all the psychology reports, all the news reports, and all the investigations…he had known the truth and said nothing. He encouraged it. He let it happen on purpose. He had killed a patient, broken the Hippocratic Oath, so that he could "win an argument". An innocent girl was dead because of him. His life was ruined because of him. Dr. Baldhead immediately wished he had done worse to him. He wished he could go back and dig up his body and dessicrate it further…

However…those thoughts didn't last long. His anger soon faded as he realized something more.

He could have suspected this. He _should_ have suspected this. Even if the world turned against him, he should have been strong enough to know what was the right thing to do. He could have even bit the bullet and officially went through medical school. It might have taken him the rest of his life, but he should have fought to build up his reputation again. Not for his sake. For the sake of people who needed help. So that he could go and do what he was born to do. He had to operate. He felt it in his bones. He should have done so.

But he didn't. Because that path was hard. Because that path meant that he would have had to admit to himself that he had made a mistake. He would have had to tell himself that not all of his patients would make it. That he made an error now and then. It was easier to believe that he had intentionally cut open a girl in a fit of madness rather than he had cut her open by accident in perfect sanity. He let this lie exist and twist him into something horrible. He was too prideful. He was too weak in character.

Worst of all…he let it destroy him. He let it warp his sense of reality and balance. He let it destroy what good intentions he still had and make him into something he wasn't. A strong man would have held firm. A better man would have gone through it and triumphed in the end. Yet he was weak. He let it rot his soul like poison until he was more inhuman than Dr. Bodkin. He had committed countless atrocities…each one more horrible than the last…because he had made a single mistake. Because he thought that his life and destiny could be summed up on that one bloody operating table.

Who was the truly pathetic man? The one who resorted to manslaughter to prove a point? Or the one who let his own soul and conscience be destroyed because he had acted as a regular human?

Dr. Baldhead closed his eyes and let his head lean back. He was pathetic. He was a fool. Why could he not see it before? Why didn't the obviousness strike him in the face? Why was it only so clear to him now? He had never felt his mind so clear and focused until now… Everything seemed so clear… What had happened to him? How had he turned away from this? How had he lost sight of it?

His eyes opened, and he looked back to Nancy. She continued to look back at him.

"Nancy…" He slowly spoke. As he did…new tears began to flow into his eyes. He was hearing the suffering that he had caused. He was remembering the horrors he had created. And now…he was seeing them as a man brought to his senses. His conscience and heart were waking up after having been asleep for four years. "Oh, Nancy…I'm so sorry…" He continued, his voice tightening again. "Nancy…I'm not the good man you thought I was. I'm not as strong as you thought I can be. I was far weaker…too weak. You…you hung on so strongly through all those surgeries. With my strength, I never would have lasted past the first incision… I don't deserve to live. I des-"

_No._

That world was the first flat, stern, and hard expression that Nancy had made. Immediately, Dr. Baldhead went silent and his sadness disappeared. His eyes widened in puzzlement as he looked back to Nancy…but then quickly backed down again. Her face had finally turned hard.

_Doctor…I don't know if the rest of the world will ever forgive you for what you did. But I forgive you. I came here so that you wouldn't hurt yourself over my death again. I came here so you would know the truth. Now, you must forgive yourself._

_For years you thought your life was over. You gave up completely. That's why you did the things you did. It's time to stop giving in. It's time to try and fight again. You may have been weak, but now it's time to be strong. To feel the way about saving lives as you used to. To want to change the world for the better again. To end as much misery as you can. And you can end a lot of misery, Doctor._

Dr. Baldhead stayed silent. He blinked once. However, his mouth closed and he took on a somber look. He looked down and to his chest.

_It's never too late to start again, Doctor. Not so long as your alive. Not so long as you are willing to try. There are thousands of children like me around the world sick and dying. If you're truly sorry for not saving my life…then save theirs. _

Dr. Baldhead looked up, his expression now surprised…and fearful.

"You…you want me to…oper-"

_You were given a great gift, Doctor. You were given the power to heal others where no one else could. You once wanted to use that. Use it now._

"B-But…no one will let me pract-"

_Find a way, Doctor. There's always a way. Save people that no one else can save. Heal everyone you can, like you used to. Change the world for the better. Do it yourself. I know you can. I always believed you could do anything. Dr. Bodkin wanted to keep you from ever operating again. If you give up now, you'll let him win. Even though you killed him, he'll be the one who murdered you. Where you once brought fear, bring hope. Where you once gave pain, give relief. Where you once ended life, give the chance for a life full of possibilities. _

Dr. Baldhead was silent. The fear was vanishing from his eyes. He was growing calmer again. He stared up into that calm face, looking down at him plainly. Somehow…it seemed to undo knots within him. It began to let in a small amount of something he hadn't felt in a very long time…a sense of hope. A sense of chance. He was still hesitant. He still held back. And yet…he felt torn again after a very long time. He felt something pushing him out. He could see the scalpel again…and see it for what it was truly meant to do.

Yet even as he thought this…the golden glow around Nancy began to die down. It was fading. And as it faded, the gray mist that filled everything else began to cover her…began to make her fade into the blur with the rest of it. His mouth opened and his eyes expanded. He weakly reached out for her as she rapidly began to sink into nothingness.

"Nancy! Don't go!"

_Someone will always believe in you no matter what, Doctor._ Her voice was fading too…seeming to sink into the mist along with her body. _And I'll always believe in you._

"No! Come back!"

_You only fail the day you quit trying._

"Nancy!"

* * *

"Ack!" 

That was all that the girl was able to say before she was yanked upward into the sky by two huge hands. However, the others, gathered around the immediate area, and slightly shrunk back from the giant running forward to grab the girl, only began to react before stopping and staring. The giant wasn't tearing her limb from limb or bashing her face in. Instead, he had a big smile and a look of enthusiasm across his expression.

"You're alive! Thank the Lord you're alive!" He cried out in Zepp language, laced with a thick accent.

The girl, however, paled and looked rather uncomfortable in her position. She seemed like she was sitting next to a bee's nest and afraid to move, thinking they'd all sting her at once.

"Um…I hope you didn't say you're still mad about me hitting you with my anchor."

"Perhaps this is a good omen. Perhaps it means that the old man's plan will succeed." The giant continued, seeming not to understand the girl anymore than she understood him. However, after that, he began to put her down once again. The girl swallowed and seemed very grateful for it as she was set back down on her feet.

"Old man's plan?" Millia asked in Zepp language.

The giant turned to her, but he wasn't alone. The others immediately turned and snapped to her as well.

"You can actually understand what the bloke is saying?" Axl asked incredulously. "I've never heard a variant on Russian like his…"

"It's not Russian. It's Zepp." Chipp corrected. "But I don't speak a word of it myself."

Millia crossed her arms and frowned at them. "Well, since I'm the only one who does, the rest of you be silent while I try to find out if he knows anything."

Chipp and Axl simply crossed their arms and stood to one side. As for the girl, she began to look around herself, seeming to forget about the hulk, and eventually turned her head to the rear. "I'm going to see if my anchor is back there…" She immediately took off, leaving Millia and the giant staring right at each other.

The woman gave him a once over, noticing his collar and the bar code that was on his shoulder. After that, she turned and looked to him. Out of all those in the room, she was the first who ceased to look at the giant with fear.

"You're a slave soldier of Zepp, correct?" Millia asked in the language.

The man nodded.

"What did you mean by the 'old man's plan'?"

"I fought an old man in a corridor that looks like this room." The giant answered. "I didn't know it at the time, but he was trying to help me. I heard him explain just as I passed out. He defeated me so that I could claim I was beaten and Zepp would send in a military group to try and assault this island and capture the tournament's host. In the meantime, he went on ahead to defeat the host of the tournament to ensure that Zepp doesn't obtain him or his secrets for weapons. Has he succeeded?"

On hearing this…Millia immediately frowned a bit more. She remembered what had happened right before Axl had broken into the room, and it made her groan a bit inwardly. She let out a sigh, arousing the curiosity of the others as well as the giant.

"If the old man you're referring to is the one I think it is…then I would say the 'old man's plan' definitely isn't going to succeed."

The giant's face blanched a bit at this. His previous expression, which had been growing enthusiastic, now began to fade. He looked down to the floor and started to grow worried. He seemed to be trying to make a decision for a brief moment. However, after a short while, he looked back up and seemed more serious and grim.

"…Then you all must leave." The giant answered. "Forces from Zepp are already coming to this location. They will kill everyone in their way to get to the host and leave no witnesses."

"And why are you telling us this?" Millia answered. "Isn't that your job?"

The giant paused a moment here, but then tightened his huge fists.

"I'm through being a puppet for a government that needs to die. They can penalize me as they wish, so long as I save some lives."

Millia looked on at him for a moment. Very noble words…but those were usually the ones that were full of the most bull. However…this man did seem pretty genuine. His face appeared stern and resolute. And after all…if he was going to attack them, he should have done it while they were unarmed. Millia had been an assassin for too long to trust anyone implicitly. Still, they all had a common cause so long as they were here. All of them disliked the tournament host, and none of them wished to be captured by him again.

"All of you go on." The giant continued, extending a huge hand and waving it. "I'll stay behind to destroy this control room."

"That may not be a good idea." Millia answered. "You have no idea how dangerous some of this stuff might be. I've never seen a plant that crushes a human to death. There's no telling what else is in here."

"I am…resilient…to damage." The giant responded with some hesitation. "But I shall wait until you all are outside. There is no need to endanger your lives."

"So what's he saying?"

Millia and the others momentarily turned back to the girl. She blinked a bit at what she saw. She was coming back out from behind where the weapons were stored, but until now Millia had not known exactly what her weapon was. She had assumed that "anchor" was a figure of speech. Hence it was a bit surprising to see her hefting a large, heavy anchor over one shoulder as she came out. The innocent expression she had on her face, as if this was normal commonplace, seemed to add a comic quality to it.

However, she recovered from this soon enough, and gestured back to the giant. "He says we need to get out of here."

Axl let out a "pfft" and crossed his arms. "I could've told you that, mate."

"He's a slave soldier for Zepp." Millia continued. "There's soldiers coming, and they'll probably want to shoot first and ask questions later. He's going to stay behind and destroy this room."

"Alright…but how do we get out of here?" The girl responded. "All of us were out when we came in."

"Same tunnel he came in from." Millia answered, gesturing back along the wall. That was where they had seen Testament enter along with the old man and the giant. It seemed good enough. If that was how the host got out, then that seemed to be the safest route.

"Then let's go." Chipp answered, and immediately made for the doorway. Millia didn't dispute this, but immediately fell in behind and followed after him. Axl gave a shrug and went along as well. The giant didn't move. He stood still and waited as he saw them go by.

That left just the girl. She soon began to walk out after them, looking about as she did. As a result…she soon put her eyes on the console with the monitors. Once she was there, she came to a stop and turned to it. She looked out and saw all of the various screens set all over the island, and gave a frown. She turned her head to the others a second later.

"I don't like the idea of him still being able to see us get away if he comes back." The girl announced, causing Millia to slow and turn back to her. The girl turned back to the console soon after and began to lift her anchor up and over her head. "I'm going to smash this thing to bits."

"Wait a minute…" Millia began to answer.

It came too late. The girl, with more ease than Millia thought possible for a girl of her size, swung the massive anchor down and let it hit full force on top of the console. Immediately, the weight and power drove a huge indentation into it and appeared to roughly cut it in half, sending an eruption of electronics and metal flying everywhere with a loud sound of destruction. The huge anchor hit ground and left only torn metal behind in its wake.

Almost immediately…a rather loud siren began to blare throughout the entire chamber. The green lights dimmed and began to flash. The lights from the corridor went black. The girl's eyes immediately widened as she looked up and around herself. The others soon began to look up and around as well at the changes. Each of the computer systems began to log off automatically, and the devices began to have covers collapse over them. After a moment, Millia turned her gaze away and leveled it darkly at the girl.

Still frozen in her final position of obliterating the console, she grinned sheepishly.

"…Oops?"

"Look!"

This sound made both the girl and Millia turn. Chipp was already looking in the direction of the alert, but Axl was pointing at it and had given the signal. He was looking at the entrance to the area…and the only exit they could see. However, something had happened. The roots covering the walls were peeling off and coming across it. They were thickening and splitting into more smaller roots. Those were weaving together and were making a net in front of the exit. They were quickly thickening as well, and growing into more and more sub branches. Soon they'd form a solid wall.

The others quickly rushed over to the exit. The giant turned and joined them. By the time they got there, there were already only a few open spaces in it remaining. For a few moments, they just stared at it and wondered what they were going to do.

Then, however, Axl raised his sickles. They began to glow red as he obviously channeled heat into them.

"No one to worry about here. I'll just prune the hell out of it."

Taking the sickles, Axl walked straight up to the ever-thickening barrier and went to the nearest "parent" root on the wall. He swung his sickles down a moment later and cut into it…

Yet these roots didn't want to give as easily as the prison. The sickles cut in partially…before the rest of the root suddenly erupted into other strands and attacked. Immediately they wrapped completely around the sickle blades, and quickly moved down. Before Axl could even realize he had failed, they were already engulfing his hands and moving up. His eyes widened in shock. He tried to break back, but they were already holding firm, and spreading up his wrists to his forearms…

The others were horrified. Chipp quickly came in and cut at one of the roots with the same sort of avulsion slice as before. Yet not only did it immediately regrow three back in its place, the roots began to engulf his blade as well. He was forced to pull back before he was caught up in it. As for Axl, the roots were almost to his elbows. He showed considerable panic and desperation now, but couldn't pull anymore already. Soon, there's be no way to keep him from being swept up into the thickening barrier.

Seeing all this…Millia sighed but then went to work. Quickly, she split her hair into two ends. One lashed out and wrapped around Axl's waist. The other flattened and became a large blade. She quickly found what was still the thinnest piece connecting Axl to the barrier. Seeing this, she swung down with all the might that she could muster and sliced it across each root. They resisted far more than she would have wanted, but she did manage to cut them. Axl let out a yell as he spilled backward and away from the wall, suddenly freed and yanked back by Millia. As for her other strand of hair…she immediately told it to retract. Even so, she barely missed having it grasped by the roots. Once it was clear, she quickly backed off as well.

At a safe distance, Millia turned to Axl. The man was still surprised at what had happened. His hands were still engulfed in dead roots, and he began to absent-mindedly shake them off. As he did so, he turned and looked to Millia. She stared coldly back, but slowly loosened the hair around his waist and freed him. Realizing she was the one who had saved him, Axl gave a nod.

"…Thanks."

"Save it." She answered. "We might be dead in a moment anyway."

With that, she gestured back to the door. The others, who had mostly focused on Axl before now, hadn't seen what she had spied. But as they turned back, they all began to sweat at what they saw.

Not only was the barrier solid and thickening more all the time, it was expanding. The roots on the walls were beginning to break off and reach out. The roots from the doorway were lengthening and starting to spill in the room. They were slowly expanding to fill up the entire room…

"We're in the ship's toilet worth of crap." The girl spoke up with a swallow.

No one answered, although at this point none of them really cared so much about what she had done as getting out of there. Yet they realized it wasn't going to be so "easy" as before. And every second they tried to think of a way out meant less chance of escape. They stared dumbly for a moment, inching back ever so slowly, looking for an answer.

Finally, the giant stepped forward. He held both of his hands in front of him. A hiss of hydraulics went out, and as the others turned to the noise, they saw large pistons on the huge gauntlets he wore popping out and locking into place.

"I escaped from them once." The giant spoke darkly. "Maybe I can break us out now."

Only Millia could understand him. The others looked confused, but before they could ask what he meant the hulk charged for the roots. His huge size and momentum shook the floor and spoke of the power he put into this. He was soon on them, and on arrival he drove both of his fists forward right for the thickest part with all the might. As he swung down and punched, both gauntlets fired. The result was a sound so loud and earth-shaking that the others were nearly knocked off of their feet by the sheer power.

A huge rip went out as the mass of roots in front of the giant buckled inward, being shoved forward a whole four feet. Green sap, like blood, oozed everywhere around him as dozens…hundreds…of branches were stretched to the point of breaking. An enclave was blasted in from the hulk's assault, and beyond the barrier some fifty fragments of roots and vines, snapped by sheer impact force, clattered to the ground and began to wither. The growth seemed to stall around him from his impact.

And yet…the barrier held.

The giant paused for only the briefest moment. Millia, still shrunk back, would have thought he should use the time to run. Get out of there while the plant was somehow stalled. However…he didn't. Immediately, he drove his massive fists forward and began to beat at the enclave, desperate to punch the rest of the way through. If there was much of an impact, Millia couldn't see it. All she saw was his smoking gauntlets flying. And as she fully recovered herself…so did the plant.

Roots shot out from everywhere and began to entwine around the giant. He kept fighting, however. As they lashed around his arms, he snapped around and began to yank and pull at them. He snapped some, but there were half a dozen more for every one he cut, and they quickly wrapped around him more strongly. The others recovered and soon stared in shock as they saw the giant being rapidly encircled by the plants. He continued to struggle, but they were coming too fast, and they restricted his movements beyond his ability to break them. They were thickening as they entwined his body, keeping him from moving. He was vanishing into a knot of them again…only this time they'd crush him…

The girl watched all of this with growing fear. Finally, she hoisted her anchor again and looked to Millia. "What are we waiting for? Let's help him!" She turned and was about to go off.

Before she could, Millia shot out a hand and seized her by the collar. Almost like a dog on a leash, the girl snapped forward, her progress arrested by a force in her neck. She seemed to gag a bit before she stopped moving, and almost slumped to the ground. But once she was done, she turned and glared at Millia.

"What are you doing?"

"If you try to help him, you'll just be engulfed as well." The woman coldly explained. "These ones are growing too fast and strong."

"What does that matter!" The girl insisted. "We're going to die if we stand around here anyway! We might as well try to fight it while it's still small!"

Millia was forced to pause at that. The girl did have a point there. Although she had a feeling that this plant could more than handle all of them combined, it was only going to get stronger and larger the more they waited. If they did have a chance to escape, then it was now. In another moment, she might have reconsidered and told them all to commit suicide running into that thing. Better to die struggling then wait for it to slowly kill them all…

But before she could…a loud, mushy voice suddenly boomed from behind her and all the others.

_"Ah'll doo it, Nanschy! Ah'll doo it fur yoo!"_

Millia's eyes as well as the girl's widened, as they slowly turned around once again.

"…You've got to be kidding me." The girl groaned as she did so.

The others turned and looked as the giant continued to struggle…and saw the impossible.

He barely had a face anymore. It was so broken and bloody and swollen that you could barely make out a human or animal had ever been there. He had to have brain damage by now. And yet…he still wasn't dead. He wasn't even comatose. He was getting to his feet. He was wobbly and unsteady, but he was still getting to his feet. And in their haste, none of them had kicked the scalpel away from him. He had picked it up in one hand as he rose to full height.

The psychopath was up.

Millia grit her teeth. Chipp and Axl began to get their weapons ready, although the latter was still trying to get the roots off of his. The woman herself realized she still wasn't in good shape. The gestures she had made with her hair were easy, but she had still lost a lot of blood and power. Still, this one had as well. They could probably kill him if they all worked together. But even if they did…what then? They'd be crushed by the roots. They'd lose whatever shadow of a chance they had. Still…it was better to be killed by the plant then tortured to death by the madman, she supposed… In another moment, she would have tried flinging her hair at him…

"Wait! Stop!"

Again, Millia, Chipp, and Axl were distracted. They turned and looked down, and saw that they were looking at the girl again. She had held up a hand to stop them. Her anchor was back on the ground, and she was relaxing.

"Don't attack him!"

"Are you nuts?" Axl answered.

"Something's different! Look at him!"

Millia frowned. She was about to tell the girl that after having her act on her own once today, she wasn't going to try anything else she said. Yet she looked back to the man again. He was still on his own two feet, but not dropping into his insect-like crawl. He was just standing there…

Yet as Millia kept looking…she noticed something. It was faint…but distinctive. With anyone else, it probably would have been nothing. But she had noticed when the man had come in how deliberate he had been with his moves. How he had moved both slow and fast with a purpose of death and murder. How sadism had been present in everything he did.

Yet now…something had changed. He seemed to be standing and wavering…but doing so like a real person would do it. He seemed only dazzled and dizzy…not menacing or looming. His body seemed to be strangely relaxed, and yet possessing the natural tightness that an average person's muscles and poise would possess. Lastly…there was his smile. His broken face was smiling again. It was wide and toothy…but it was no longer dribbling drool or in ravenous delight. It was a calm smile…a happy one, and one that wasn't derived from sadistic pleasure. In a strange way…it almost looked pleasant…

Millia didn't notice this alone. The others did too, and it stayed their hands. Their weapons began to lower. As for the former lunatic…only now beginning to look like a real man…he stood there a moment longer. But then…he took off into a run. Not on four legs, but with his arms swinging at his sides, still holding the scalpel, and running as best as he could on his wavering gait. His head lolled a bit, but he kept his smile and kept coming forward. He was headed straight for them.

Millia nearly attacked. Her hair began to lengthen and grow rigid. And yet…she waited. She watched him come right up to her, his own tall size towering over hers…and then watched him go right past as if she wasn't even there. She turned and followed him, and the others looked as well. They saw him head straight for his true destination. He was going for the barrier.

By now, one couldn't even seen anymore of the giant. He was faintly struggling, but soon his bonds would be too strong for that. The barrier was resuming thickening again, and it was continuing to spread along the walls. Without fear of the roots engulfing him, the tall man ran right up to the heart of it, right in front of where the giant was. There he came to a stop, and for a moment his tall, lanky form was framed by the nightmarish mass of roots expanding like some sort of alien cancer.

Millia heard the slightest hint of a laugh from him, before he held his half of a scalpel high and screamed.

_"Da doctur ish in!"_

Then…he went to work.

The four were in total awe. They had never seen anything like it. Despite being so beaten and bloody, the man operated like all of the greatest surgeons in history had been combined into one. His scalpel flew over the roots. As Chipp had given them avulsions to leech them, so too did he. Only he did it much faster, much deeper, and in far more number. He leeched each root five times in the blink of an eye. He moved so quickly he was able to zig-zag his scalpel and do ten roots at once with each stroke. Even they weren't able to keep up with this. Some tried to assault him, but he twisted and kept moving, cutting faster as he did so. None of them could touch him. He continued to slice and slash without the slightest pause. He only went faster as time went on, cutting the roots again and again, sending pieces flying everywhere…

To the surprise of the others, in less than twenty seconds no roots were making for him. The tall man had cut them around in such a way as he was now enclosed within a protective tunnel of dead roots. Because they weren't severed, they couldn't be regrown. Because they were being leeched so badly, the dying roots couldn't grow new shafts. What was left was for the fresh roots to futily try to force their way in around their own barrier.

As for the man, he advanced on the giant, totally engulfed in roots like some strange mummy. In ten seconds, he had freed him and cut open his vital spots around his lungs and neck. After that, however, he yanked him back with surprising power and dumped him behind him. The giant was still feebly struggling inside his prison, but it was dead now and he was getting air. The tall man had no time for him. He was advancing on the rest of the barrier. Now, he seemed to double his cutting speed and went into it. Chunks of roots flew out behind him. Branches were severed left and right as he bored his way into it. He moved like a mixture of a mad dancer and a drill. It was impossible…unless…

"Oh my god…" Millia spoke out loud.

The others turned and looked to her.

"It's Dr. Baldhead." She announced.

This was lost on the girl and Axl, who looked back in confusion, but Chipp's eyes widened.

"That raving psycho? The guy who had sliced up all those victims? Did all of those psychotic operations? He's cutting us out?"

"It can't be anyone else." Millia answered. "He's the only one who could do what this man is doing. I heard about how legendary he was when he was still a surgeon. But this…this is beyond description."

Even as they said this, Dr. Baldhead began to finish cutting through. None of them knew at first, because the corridor beyond was now dark. Yet as he cut further, they began to feel a breeze of air. They also began to be able to see around him, and saw that the way was indeed opening up. In less than ten more seconds, he had fully cut the way through.

Immediately, he turned around to the giant. He was still mostly immobilized, and didn't react as Dr. Baldhead went back up to him and seized him by the leg. Displaying surprising strength and power, he tightened his body, yanked back, and dragged him up and partially off the ground. Then, with a rather rough gesture, he spun around and flung him through the opening he had made. He was barely able to do so, but he managed to get the giant into a roll, and as a result he managed to clear it.

Once that was done, he quickly turned back to the corridor walls. The roots were starting to make their way through in certain places. He quickly chopped at these, and hacked them before they could get too far through. He moved fast…but unfortunately he wasn't able to cut them as effectively as the others, because he wasn't letting them get out far enough to do so. Yet as he continued to cut, he turned out to those still standing.

_"Go!"_ He managed to squeeze out from his mangled face.

If there was any question in the others, this removed it. They realized that he was actually trying to get them out of there. With that in mind, Millia turned to the others and looked once more for confirmation. None of them seemed to voice any objections. There still was the idea that he would stab them in the back…but it was a chance they all seemed willing to take. With that in mind, Millia turned back and ran for the exit. Soon, the others began to follow behind.

Millia reached it first. She hesitated a moment before running, however. She saw that the tunnel that Dr. Baldhead had made was barely large enough for himself and someone else, and he was furiously chopping to keep it that way. The branches and roots were still reaching out from the sides, trying to lock together and block it from another angle. They weren't succeeding for now, but there was no telling how long it would be until they came. On arrival, the others seemed to realize that they wouldn't be able to get out all at once either. And so they pulled back, staying clear of the other roots. Once this was done, Millia finally took off and ran inside. She tried to stay in the middle as much as possible. She didn't dare touch the walls, and she didn't feel that good about touching Dr. Baldhead either. Keeping her arms inward, she managed to squeeze through and past him. He continued to chop the whole way.

Once Millia was through, she went a bit farther before bending down and seizing the giant by part of his vines. She quickly dragged him back as she went back as well. She noted that she was going into pitch blackness, and she realized that if the roots had formed barriers beyond this point that they'd be like flies running into a spider's web. She also realized she had little choice. Once she was as far away as she thought was safe, she looked back ahead.

Axl ran through next. He had freed his hands at this point, and quickly wrapped his chain around his wrists and arms as he rushed through. The tunnel was buckling in several points by then already. The roots were growing thick on the other side, struggling to break through. It was almost as if they had minds of their own. And they seemed to be learning that if they massed together they might be able to get through.

Chipp ran through next. He had to keep one arm low and to his side, what with the way his blade was fixed to his shoulder. By this point, the vines seemed to be keeping Dr. Baldhead extremely busy. It almost seemed as if he was madly striking at them, though Millia could still tell that he was trying to cut them in ways that slowed them down. It was amazing her. How much faster could he possibly go? Yet on thinking that, she began to think probably not much faster. They were running out of time.

Luckily, the girl was up. She would have the hardest time. Her anchor was big and awkward. She kept it as close to her shoulder as possible, and then rushed through. As she did so, and as she pushed by the doctor as he continued to slice…she couldn't help but stop. She turned to him and held her posture for a moment, looking nervous.

"Come on, you idiot!" Millia shouted back.

"I'm the last one! Get out!" The girl shouted to the doctor, ignoring Millia.

The doctor was still slashing as fast as he could. The walls of dead roots were bulging now, looking seconds from breaking. He was at full speed regarding the ones coming through. And yet…he seemed to hesitate. He looked to the girl, and through his face Millia could almost see a hint of hesitation. However, he looked around only a bit longer, and then turned so that his back was to the girl. After that, he began to slowly back up while still slashing.

The girl was satisfied with this, it seemed. She turned to walk again…and ran the ends of her anchor right into a hanging root.

Immediately, the plant lashed onto it and started to spread downward. The girl was stopped in the middle of her walk, and snapped around to it. Quickly, she reached up with both hands, grasped it, and yanked back to try and pull it loose. Yet the root had finally found purchase, and wasn't going to let go so easily. It quickly began to spread down along it, moving toward where her hands were…

The doctor, in the midst of cutting, turned to begin work on one of the bulges. Yet before he could cut, he hesitated. He saw what was going on out of the corner of his eye. Immediately, he whirled around to the girl and saw how the roots were struggling to branch out to engulf the anchor and her with it. She kept grasping, however, struggling to pull it off. And the roots, seeming to know where she was now, were bulging all around to try and get through and grasp her. Millia was moments from yelling at her to forget the damn anchor, when the doctor spun completely around and slashed out at the end of the roots. With a few quick cuts, they were severed and the anchor broke free.

The girl let out a yelp as she spilled backward, the sudden loss of balance causing her to tumble into a reverse somersault. Yet in doing so, she managed to clear the prison and run right into the others. She collided with Chipp and immediately broke out of her roll, spilling out into a seated position. She was a bit dizzy and dazzled, and as she looked up she blinked a bit to try and get her bearings. As for Dr. Baldhead, seeing this done, he quickly spun back to the bulge…

…Just in time to see it explode and send two dozen roots swarming over his body.

The girl blinked once, but then realized what had happened. She immediately gasped and got to her feet. Millia herself couldn't help but let out a sharp exhale as she saw it happen. They immediately assaulted Dr. Baldhead everywhere. His body seemed to be pushed back as they swarmed over him and began to wrap around. Yet even then, he didn't stop. He immediately pulled his blade down and began to slice through them. Somehow, he was able to slice both through them and through the roots around him. He actually seemed to be holding his own against them for a moment…

Before two more patches erupted behind him, and more roots engulfed him. They shot for his arms and for his legs, trying to stop him. They caught one arm and quickly wrapped it, but his other arm kept the scalpel and kept slashing. If anything, he did so more furiously. Sap and roots fell everywhere. However, they continued to snake around him. Three more patches soon erupted, and the entire barricade began to break down.

"No!" The girl called. She quickly started to get back to her feet.

Millia looked away from the sight and to her. Seeing what she was going to do, she quickly reached out, with her arms and not her hair, and grabbed her before she could rush forward. She kept the anchor in one hand and threatened to lift it to cut, but she wasn't able to from here. As the roots continued to increase in number and fight, Dr. Baldhead battled on. She stared at him the whole time, her face growing anxious and afraid.

"Let me go!" She shouted. "We've got to help him!"

"It's too late! There's too many!" Millia found herself shouting back…even though, somewhere inside her…she actually felt like the girl and wanted to run forward.

"I'm with the girl." Axl sounded soon after. Millia looked up, and saw him coming forward with his sickles out. "Crazy bloke just saved our asses. We can't leave him here."

"If we try to save him we'll all get caught in it!" Millia yelled back, her tone insistent and trying to get his attention.

"We still can't just leave him here!" Chipp began to chime in. He started to lift his own blade and move forward. "We can try!"

"And if we screw up, we'll all be dead, and he'll have tried to save us for nothing!"

_"Juscht go!"_

The four went silent and snapped back to the mass of vines. The giant himself had managed to pull the roots from his head, and looked up to him now too. He was still in the midst of the vines, fighting to the last and still cutting.

_"Schave yurschef!"_ The doctor yelled, somehow able to cry out despite how fast he was moving. The vines were starting to go around his torso and neck now. In front of him, they were beginning to form a net again. They were already in a barrier behind him. The entire chamber was going dark. Soon, it'd be pitch black and no one would be able to see anything…including the doctor looking at the vines he was cutting.

"We can't leave you!" The girl cried back. She struggled all the harder against Millia now.

The woman clutched her teeth in anger. She looked up to him, and saw the light continuing to fade. Yet as she did…she noticed that her fears were justified. The roots were beginning to peel off the walls in here as well. They were bending inward. Soon they'd try to get them within the corridor as well. She looked back ahead, and saw that the man was starting to vanish behind a net of roots. The light was almost gone. It was over. They couldn't stay here anymore.

With that in mind, she looked down to the girl…and made her hair lengthen. In an instant, she let go of the girl and let her hair wrap around her body, soon enclosing her much the same way she had been before, pinning her but leaving her head and feet exposed. The girl looked to this in surprise as she suddenly found herself bound, and looked up to Millia.

"No! Let me loose!"

Millia looked up to the others. They had turned and seen what she had done, but they were still hanging behind. The giant himself was beginning to rise now, but he too looked anxious and hesitant. She grit her teeth at them and leveled her cold gaze.

"I'm going now and I'm taking her with me." She flatly stated. "You can stay behind…but once the lights are out you could run right into a root without even seeing it coming. You either run or stay and die with him."

It was a grim way of saying it…but it was true. There was nothing else. They'd all die if they tried to assist him. It might not have been the most honorable thing to do…but it was the only way they were going to get out of here alive. And it was what the crazy doctor had tried to carry out. They'd make him die for nothing if they didn't leave while they could.

Axl looked back between Millia and Dr. Baldhead's vanishing figure, as if trying to decide between the two of them. Finally, he swore, turned, and began to run off into the darkness. Chipp looked back to Dr. Baldhead himself, but then looked down to Axl. Quickly, he ran after him to catch up. It wasn't due to new friendship or fear, however. Millia would soon find out why he had done so. But for now, she looked on to the giant. He looked at him and clutched his fists in frustration. He gnashed his teeth, looking almost in pain. But finally, he turned and began to run off.

All that was left was Millia, the girl, and the few rays of dimming light around Dr. Baldhead. The roots entwined his neck. They held firm and pinned it, allowing a root to go around his head. He somehow was still slashing, but the roots had made it to his shoulder and were moving down the arm now. You could only see his head at this point. The rest was blocked off by the thickening wall. The girl turned around to the assassin.

"If you're giving them a choice, then give me one too!"

Millia kept her frown. "You don't get it, do you? He's doing this because of you! Something you did set him off! I can't save him, but I can keep you from getting killed! That's what he wants for you!"

With that, Millia turned and began to walk off. As she did, she snapped her hair close, and hoisted the girl's body to her own back. Her hair immediately formed straps and fastened her to her chest, enabling to carry her like a backpack. One of the girl's hands was still on her anchor, and it dragged behind her. Millia was glad for it…because sit weighed a lot and she only slowly began to make her way down the hall.

The girl, desperate and defeated, looked back into the mess of roots. She was just able to see Dr. Baldhead's face.

Despite the horrible fate that was coming around him, despite the failing light, despite his grotesque features…she thought she saw the lines of a smile form on his expression.

"Dank yoo…" She heard from inside…just before the light went out, and both she, Millia, and the others vanished into the darkness.

* * *

Sol couldn't help it. He knew how durable Kliff was. He had to be brutal for a moment, even if it risked causing some serious damage. 

The man abruptly flung the Fireseal into the air with one hand. His other stayed clamped on Kliff's lapel. A moment later, he shot his fist forward and smashed it into the old man's face. Immediately, he snapped the back of his hand out and bashed Kliff across it twice. He snapped his head violently in either direction as he did so, letting out trails of blood from impact.

Sol snapped his hand back afterward and drove it forward again, burying his fist deep into Kliff's stomach. The old man's eyes widened as he doubled over, and his mouth hung open as he gagged blood. Once his head was in the proper position, however, Sol retorted by lifting his knee and smashing it full force into his skull. The impact sent his head flinging back, trailing more blood behind it, splattering on top of Sol's as it happened, and let him limp.

At that point, the Fireseal finished coming down. Sol shot out with a hand and grasped the end of it, and immediately ignited it into a red blaze. There he stood. The sword was out in one hand and ready to fall. Kliff's body, now limp, seemingly lifeless, was being held up by his other hand. The Dragonslayer clattered out of his grip uselessly. There was no more power in it. His eyes were closed, his face bashed and bloody, and his breathing slow. He looked like he was finished.

Sol held like that for a moment longer…before simply throwing his arm forward. Kliff was cast in front of him and flung outside of the main area. He collided limply against the ground a moment later, and settled into a bleeding heap. Sol let his sword arm fall to his side. However, he quickly bent down afterward, took Dragonslayer by the hilt, stood up, turned, and flung it easily away and out the other side of the ring.

Sol hadn't enjoyed that. But he knew how stubborn Kliff was. And he couldn't have afforded to humor him in this battle. He was already weary from his fight with Ky and Millia. Even this fight had made him a bit sweatier, and had begun to put the pangs of soreness into his muscles. He had to win and win fast. Nevertheless…he did regret that he wasn't able to hold onto that idea that Kliff had. However, he knew there had been no other choice. Kliff wasn't going to be the one to end this. Even if he still had the power, he knew now that he didn't have the will. And Sol knew full well that Kliff had been denying himself the whole time. Ozzie…or whoever he was now…wasn't going to back down off of this. He was just using him. And much as he must have hated it, this was the only way now. There was only one person who could end this...and that was him.

After a few moments, Sol turned back over to Kliff. The old man was still down. In his older days, he might have kept coming. But he had worn out much of his stamina too by this point. He was breathing now, so he wasn't dead. Yet he seemed unconscious. Sol gazed at him with his normal cold expression…but there was some ruefulness in it.

"…I'm sorry it had to be this way, Kliff." He said quietly to him after a few moments. "But it was like you used to say…you didn't want people out for revenge in your army. The same goes for people who can let what they feel get in the way of what is right. I have to stop him now."

Kliff didn't answer…but Sol found himself wishing that he heard him. He had a feeling this would be the last time he saw him, no matter what happened. The old man didn't have much left in him, after all. It was a real pity. Somewhere inside him, back in Switzerland on that day…he had hoped that he was bringing up a successor. He hadn't really expected it. Just hoped that it would be true. But it seemed that so long as he was doomed to walk this Earth, then the job would be his and his alone.

He only wished that the world could have come to peace sooner. Then maybe Kliff could have lived a life of one, and not been left a soldier without a war.

After looking on Kliff a bit longer…his eyes narrowed. His hands formed into fists again, and he clutched the edge of the Fireseal. He kept it at his side, but began to prepare his body for action again. Kliff was pushed back in his mind, and thoughts of battle began to flow forward once again. Thus prepared…he slowly turned around. Even before he fully did so, his eyes went out and looked directly behind him.

He was already waiting.

Sol's gaze was sharp and burning as it rested on his body…only to find that his own blood red eyes were gazing back just as strongly. The slight breeze that had begun in the stadium began to pull at the ends of his robes. In a way…Sol had to admit it was like looking at a complement of himself. His clothes were black, but they were the pieces that he was missing from his own uniform. Beneath it, he saw the strong white muscles tensing. He had seen these muscles before. Even a small framed Gear was toned to perfection, and here was no exception. The wind caught his black hair and blew it behind his shoulders. Other than that, he stood perched on one end of the field without moving.

Sol fully turned to him and became still. The Gear stared back coldly for a moment longer. Then, very calmly, he extended a single finger. He raised it up in the air, and proceeded to "draw" a curve on it. As he moved his hand, however…Sol could hear the air ripping. It was like the same sound that he had heard before in the subway. He didn't react to it, but freely let the Gear continue what he was doing.

He continued to trace his finger until he had drawn something very large, and then pulled his hand back. A moment later, he shot it forward again, and the slightest slapping sound went out from his palm touching the shaft of what he had made. He hadn't ripped open reality this time. He had seemed to conjure something. Sol had seen Gears perform this trick as well in the past. He had used it to generate a weapon, one made solid from his own magical energy put into physical form.

This one was rather intimidating. It was a large, blood-red scythe. The blade itself had to be a good three feet long. The staff was lightly crooked, as it would be for a true thresher. It also imitated the crude look of wood and iron. This didn't make the weapon look cheap, however. On the contrary…it made it look more gothic and genuine. Against his white skin and black garb, it looked almost like the scythe of Death itself. Quite nimbly, he crossed it in front of him.

"Sol Badguy." He announced plainly. "…You advance to the finals."

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: Dance with Death...


	23. Dance with Death

**"Dance with Death"**

* * *

Sol didn't seem to mind that statement that much. He stared back at the Gear without changing. He himself stared back plainly for a moment before removing one of his hands and waving it in front of him. Sol didn't react. He knew what an attack was and what wasn't. 

In response, some sort of machine began to go to work. The sound of hydraulics started to pump, and as Sol watched, the metal circle in front of him hissed and groaned. A moment later, and a fracture appeared in it, right down the middle. It quickly began to widen. The mercenary looked at the Gear for a bit longer before turning his eyes down completely. The metal continued to slide apart for a few moments, only slowly revealing what was beneath it.

It wasn't much. It was some sort of circular pattern. It was elevated an inch or so off the ground, making a series of concentric rings with peaks and valleys. Small "connecting" valleys were in between the various rings, but the whole array seemed set up to transmit something toward some sort of hub in the center. A small amount of water was inside.

The hydraulics ceased and the metal panels fully pushed against the ground, sinking it until it was deep enough to not be a hindrance. The central array was left behind. Sol couldn't tell if it was stone or metal. Perhaps it was a mixture of both. At any rate, he soon looked up from this and back to the Gear.

"All is prepared." He stated calmly. "Spilling your blood on this sigil will break the seal and reopen the dimension. I'm impressed that you managed to figure out the true purpose of this tournament so easily."

"…Ozzie, I presume?" Sol asked.

In response, the Gear's eyes narrowed. Though still mostly emotionless, he showed obvious anger at the sound of that name.

"…My _name_ is Testament."

"I know the name you've taken for yourself." Sol instantly answered. "I heard of you enough during the war. I'm calling you by your human name. The name that a man who treated you like his own son called you. The man you betrayed the trust of without caring."

"Kliff means nothing to me, just as every other human being on the face of the earth means nothing to me." Testament simply answered, not the least bit hesitant or uncomfortable. "His sole use was in forcing you to spend more of your stamina. After battling him and Ky, I'm sure you will be easier to kill."

Sol stared silently back at him for a moment. The wind went by, and on the howl neither man made a move to attack the other.

Sol was the one who broke the silence.

He did so by smiling and letting out a snicker.

Testament raised an eyebrow. "…Did something I say amuse you?"

"The entire Gear philosophy amuses me." Sol retorted, still smiling. "There you stand, thinking you're the image of perfection. The next stage of evolution. You think all humans are just dirty apes. And yet…when it comes right down to it, you're as depraved as the rest of us. All that high talk…all those ideals about the bonds of fellowship and community and loyalty… It's all a crock when it gets in the way of something you want."

Testament's eyes narrowed considerably here. No longer hidden. His anger was becoming visible. Being compared to a human in any way angered him.

"Dante's Inferno says that the deepest lair of Hell is for those who betrayed their benefactors, Ozzie or Testament or whatever you call yourself. Where do you think they'll fit you in? You did more than betray your father. You betrayed your entire species."

"You are the last person who I will ever let preach to me about treason against his own species." Testament immediately retorted, his looks growing angrier.

On hearing this, Sol went silent and his smile faded. An air of seriousness fell over him instantly. The air suddenly seemed to still as those last few words hung in the air.

"…Perhaps you're the truly ingenious one." He finally admitted.

"Wisdom had little to do with it." Testament answered. "You simply assumed that the only spectators in your battle with Justice were your human friends."

Sol gave a simple shrug in reply. "Friends is far too strong a word."

"Indeed. I'd say 'masters' is more appropriate." Testament harshly bit back. "You think it's surprising that a human would become a Gear. I spent months trying to comprehend the idea that a Gear would possibly want to be a human. Living among these rodents…wallowing in their pitiful little customs and conditions…slaughtering your own kind…and for what? Even now, I find it almost impossible to believe that they aren't controlling you somehow. To think otherwise makes me nauseous at the sight of you. I should be glad you weren't around thousands of years ago. You'd probably side with the rest of the apes against humans evolving."

"I was simply carrying out what you claimed to be fighting for." Sol answered. "I got to choose. What did you ever do besides follow the orders of your master? What were you able to do without his approval?"

Testament placed his hand back on his scythe and tightened his grip.

"My way of thinking was the one that was flawed. I wanted a world where our two races can live in peace. Now I know that isn't possible. I watched it become less and less possible in the world after Justice as the years went by. This is the only way to save my race now. There can only be one victor, and so long as I breathe I will ensure that it is the Gears."

"You still talk as if this war isn't over." Sol answered. "So you will bring back Justice. What then? What can he do? Take command of the few Gears that are left? The war was already going to end in the humans' favor before he was sealed away. This just sped it up. A surprise attack might catch a few governments off guard. It might be able to work against an unprepared world for a few months. You might kill a million, or ten million even. But in the end, you will lose. The rest of your race will die. Justice alone isn't going to make up that difference."

Testament seemed to calm a bit at this…but it wasn't from realization. It was from knowing something that Sol didn't.

"You're wrong." He flatly answered. "Now, more than ever, Justice holds potential for the rest of our race. He confided in me before he was sealed away the first time. There was only one true way that mankind was ever able to stand against us. They possessed one advantage we did not. But after decades of research and war, Justice was able to remove the final barrier to our dominion."

Sol's brief moment of ease and coolness began to fade. He felt genuine anxiety begin to fill his body for the first time. He almost thought he could sense his sweat glands along his back becoming active again after so many years…beginning to let out a cold fluid. This was something he hadn't been able to guess. It was something that, in his own knowledge, he didn't think would be possible.

"…Justice can breed." Sol quietly answered.

Testament gave a slow nod.

"The only reason humanity was able to gain an edge on us is because every loss to us was permenant. Every loss to them could be recovered, albeit slowly. Not so with us. Justice revealed to me that he not only managed to remove the genetic controls that kept him from breeding, but that our offspring only require a few years to reach maturity. With this hindrance removed, the fight will soon shift back in our favor. This time we will succeed."

Sol stood silently for a few moments after hearing this. After a short while, he raised his arms and crossed them in front of him. He kept one hand on his blade, but other than that leveled his dark gaze at Testament.

"…Are you going to call me 'traitor' again for this?" Testament simply asked.

"Is this what you truly want, Testament?" Sol simply answered. "This is what you wish to do with the autonomy that you have? To kill the human race? A race that gave birth to you and people like Kliff? Do you honestly believe that all humans are as corrupt and vile as you make them out to be?"

"There was a time when I believed such thoughts like that had a purpose to them." Testament simply answered. "Believe it or not…there was a time when I thought it might be possible for us to live together. Perhaps not as friends but tolerating each other…dividing this world into our respective sections. Yet I've grown far wiser since then. It's what Justice was trying to show me since we first met. It's basic biology. We are two species competing for the same niche. One must survive and the other must die. And as I said before…I won't live in a world without Gears so long as there are Gears to live in the world. If your extinction be the only way, then so be it."

Sol stared back silently. Testament didn't move or add anything else. Sol never regained any amusement or easy looks. In the end…he slowly uncrossed his arms, and let his sword come down to his side.

"…I apologize." He finally said.

Testament raised an eyebrow, but nothing else. "For what?"

"For calling you Ozzie." Sol answered. "There's nothing left of what he was in you."

At long last…Testament smiled.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Sol didn't respond or say anything else. A moment later…and he took off for the Gear.

Testament's smile faded immediately, but it didn't become a frown. He tightened his grip on his scythe and waited. A moment later, and Sol was nearly upon him. The Fireseal was brought back, and as he charged at him he swiped out for the Gear's legs.

Sol immediately got a good grasp of how powerful this particular Gear would be when Testament answered by giving the barest hint of a squat and then leaping. In a tremendous acrobatic maneuver, he simply launched himself into the air and flipped over Sol's head. Immediately, the man came to a halt, even as he heard Testament shooting back down to the ground behind him. He quickly spun around…and just in time too. The Gear was already up and aiming a scythe cut for Sol's neck. The man was barely able to raise his own weapon and intercept it in time. A sharp ring went out as blades collided.

Sol immediately felt a sharp throbbing run through his arms, and his feet buckled and slid partially on the ground despite having braced himself. Soon, his teeth were gritting and his palms beginning to sweat as he pushed hard against Testament's scythe blade. It was awkward. Sol's blade was flat, but Testament's natural curve to his weapon gave him an edge. Even now, he felt his opponent's blade slide partially on his. Yet the true issue here was the power. It felt like he was trying to stop a Redwood tree from falling down as he held against this strength, and Testament didn't even look like he was struggling.

_He's a 1__st__ Class Gear, all right._

Testament soon ripped his scythe back and advanced. His moves were quick and fluid. Sol deflected the first blow for his chest, then another for his leg, and then two more aimed at his torso as he was forced back. Yet as soon as Testament was done with a final swing toward his legs, he shifted his grip up on his scythe and swung out with the staff end for Sol's head. The man saw this despite its speed, and quickly ducked to avoid it. He seemed to clear it in plenty of time…

…And soon found out why. The attack was to force him into his awkward position on purpose. Almost immediately, Testament pulled back and slashed out for his legs. Sol barely caught this in time, and quickly rolled back to avoid it. Yet even as he did…he felt hot pain break out across the front of his ankles. As he rolled back, fresh blood began to roll out and dribble over his head while in the somersault. He soon went back and came out of it, and quickly rose to his feet despite the fresh pain. That was good…for Testament was already on him again.

Sol's eyes widened at the Gear's speed as he was soon being forced back again, and once more deflected a series of strikes. He managed to stop the first four of them. However…each one was incredibly fast and strong. Easily as bad as Ky's, and usually worse. It didn't take long for Sol's arms to feel strained under this latest chain of blows.

On the fifth strike, aimed for Sol's still bleeding legs, the man swung up from the back to intercept the scythe blade. He quickly forced it forward, altering its path and making it shift past Sol's flesh easily. In doing so, he left an opening. Testament raised a single eyebrow, but other than this showed no emotion. Sol himself made his face cold again, brought his blade up as fast as he could, and moved to stab at Testament's shoulder.

Long before the blade got close enough, however, Testament was able to bring his scythe back up and deflect it with the staff on his weapon. No sooner had he done so than he followed through with bringing his scythe up, and soon the large blade was slashing out for Sol's body. Surprised to see his attack both deflected and countered so easily, Sol was cut off guard again…and soon paid for it. He dodged back, but not before he felt his tunic rip and his flesh tear behind it. Soon more blood splattered to the ground as he backed up. He struggled to maintain form and ignore the hit as much as possible…but it seemed to suck at his skin, like it was jaggedly slashing him. He had a hard time bringing his blade up to counter Testament as he advanced with an overhead swing and brought down the full force on top of Sol's body. Somehow, the man was able to recover enough to plant his feet and lock his arms, stopping the hit. Even so…his muscles soon burned from the power Testament put out, and his teeth clenched as he strained.

After a moment longer, however, Sol managed to wrench his arms to the side and force Testament's scythe down to the ground. The movement was quick enough to have him miss and drive his scythe into the metal, sticking it for a split second. Sol quickly brought his blade up and moved for his body next, lunging forward to slash at him…

Yet the distance was too great, and Testament was too fast. Without blanching yet again, he yanked his scythe out of the ground and quickly backed up, letting Sol's sword hit nothing but air. However, before he could try another attack, Sol quickly fired up his sword and swung again at the ground, sending a ripple of fire toward him. To this…Testament calmly leapt backward. It wasn't a short little hop however. Without straining, he had no trouble leaping back and easily clearing twenty feet almost instantaneously. The fire erupted under nothing.

It took only an instant after this for Testament to dart back forward again. However, he didn't do so in a straightforward manner. Instead, he appeared to zig zag his way toward Sol without running. His body seemed to instantly move a short distance, shift, and then move forward a bit further. The speed was so great that Sol, struggling to get back up on his feet, barely registered him coming, and couldn't see his feet moving. He braced himself for a blow from the left…only to have Testament seem to glide to the right and come in with a slash from that angle. Sol quickly twisted his blade around and intercepted…only to have Testament pull back after that clash and leap upward. A moment later, and he was shooting into the air, doing another nimble flip behind Sol's head, and then landing behind him. This time…Sol was only halfway turned around before he felt cold, ripping steel slash open his back. His teeth grit as he used the impact to spill forward, getting some distance between him and his opponent…

Yet even as he continued to bleed, not only from his back but from his legs and his chest, he swung around and slashed out for where Testament's head was at incredible speed. All he resulted in was clashing against metal, as Testament raised the staff of his scythe to block it. However, the move did seem to catch him off guard, and Sol immediately tried to press his advantage, slashing out for his legs and his torso. Again, it was useless. Testament didn't even have to try that hard to shift the long reach of his weapon and block both blows. Eyes narrowing yet again, Sol brought his blade back for a moment and then lunged forward to thrust Testament through the chest. The Gear answered by bringing his scythe down and around, hooking his blade around the Fireseal, and forcing it to the ground.

Sol allowed this, however, and let himself advance even closer to Testament as he pushed their two weapons together. In doing so, he finally managed to close the distance between the two of them. They were soon practically touching. His weapon was pinned, but that didn't stop him from removing a hand from his blade, making a fist, and driving it forward with all the power he could pack into it straight for Testament's face. Sol wasn't holding back now. This hit would have killed the ninja if he would have struck him with it…

His fist soon smashed into Testament's skull, turning the Gear's head slightly to the side…

…And then, as soon as he pulled the hit back, his head calmly turned back to the way it had been before. He hadn't even flinched.

Sol struggled not to let his mouth hang open as he drew his fist back.

"The anti-aging process that my new physiology incorporates has interfered with my natural skin growth." Testament calmly explained. "My skin cells aren't shed so quickly and are excessively keratinized. Striking me is about as useful as hitting an air bag made out of Kevlar."

Testament said no more…but simply twisted his scythe up and off of Sol's blade. He hadn't time to make it cut, but he let the flat part of the blade strike Sol hard under the chin. The blow made Sol's ears ring and his world swirl from its power. He staggered back after taking it…but Testament wasn't done with him. He quickly pulled his scythe forward again, aimed the end of the staff on the scythe end for Sol's head, and then thrust it forward like a bo lunge. A sickening crack went out as the blow struck Sol in the head, and a moment later the man was again ripped off of his feet and thrown backward. This blow was one of the worst yet. It sent Sol sailing off his feet a good two yards before sending him to the ground and dragging him against the rough substance for another ten feet.

Sol was forced to pause, although he told himself to get up while he could. Yet even in the pause, he began to notice that he was rather dizzy. His head was swimming quite a bit even after the short fight. He realized it wasn't entirely due to the beating that Testament was giving him. Part of it was the fact that the wounds he possessed weren't clotting. They were still bleeding freely. Testament must have cut him in a special way…

The man grunted and began to sit up…only to see that Testament was already on him again and bringing his scythe down. Sol's eyes widened, and he quickly rolled out of the way. As he did, he sent a mental command to the Fireseal to ignite. Testament quickly recovered after stabbing only rock, and shifted to Sol and drove the scythe down again. Sol paused only long enough to pass his heated blade over one of his two ankle wounds before rolling to the side again, missing the scythe. Testament answered by bringing his scythe back and aiming to slash the entire area in front of him. He did so…but not before Sol managed to get into a backward roll to get out of the way, making sure to sear his other ankle wound shut as he did so. Despite being dizzy and breathing hard at this point, Sol rolled back onto his feet and then sprung up to full height. Testament advanced on him and slashed. Sol sidestepped this first vertical slice taking the moment to sear his chest closed.

Unfortunately, no sooner had Testament missed him than he twisted his scythe in an arc, smashing the staff of his weapon into Sol's side with surprising force. The man's face twisted into pain as he felt one of his ribs strained from the blow, although it managed to hold. Even so, his kidney soon went into agony as the power knocked him to the side. Testament quickly pulled his scythe back off from this blow, spun around, and slashed out for Sol's head next. Sol saw this coming, but didn't try to dodge it. He quickly brought up his own blade and blocked it, shifting his own hand down for extra power. He didn't bother clashing, but just stopped it long enough to advance a step and try to slash in toward Testament again. Once more, the Gear's eyebrow raised before he twisted his staff and intercepted. Once this was done, he slashed out for Sol's legs with the end of the staff, forcing the man to leap back. The scythe swiped for his head again next, forcing him even further back.

_His scythe gives him a much longer reach than me._ Sol thought. _He's keeping me too far away to even attack. I've got to get around it somehow…_

Testament was once again advancing. Once again, Sol was bringing up his sword to slash and block away his incoming blows. Soon he was retreating again, and once more forced to give up more of his stamina and energy. He was now in considerable pain from burning his wounds shut, and his stamina was still being leeched by the slice across his back. Each strike was robbing him of a bit more of the strength he needed. Things didn't look good… He had to think of another way through this assault.

Finally, an idea presented itself.

Abruptly, Sol stopped intercepting the blows. Instead, he focused his attention on the Gear's strikes and responded by dodging and ducking. Each swing of the scythe seemed to try and pull the blood and flesh away from his body, but each strike missed. Unfortunately, tiring Testament out didn't seem to be likely. The Gear wasn't even sweating or strained yet. Still, Sol dodged, waiting for him to make his mistake…

At last, it happened. Testament brought up a vertical strike and once more swung his scythe down on Sol. Just as he had a moment ago, he sidestepped and let it sail harmlessly back. No doubt, Testament thought he'd twist his weapon to the side and strike him as he had last time. However…Sol managed to catch the eyebrows of the Gear rising in puzzlement, seeming to already know that Sol wouldn't have made such a stupid mistake…

But if he planned a move, it was too late. Immediately, Sol swung his blade around and collided with the scythe. Using that as a bracing point, he spun inward closer to the Gear. The pale man was surprised at this and nearly pulled back…but it was too late. Sol immediately removed one hand from his blade, reached out, and grasped the handle of Testament's staff. It was bizarre. It felt as if the scythe didn't want him touching it, and was wet and vibrating to his fingers. Yet he held on, and quickly pulled his blade up and brought it down in a rapid cross slash across Testament's chest. The Gear could only widen his eyes in surprise as the blade cut across him twice…

A moment later, however, and his eyes relaxed while those of Sol widened.

The tops of Testament's uniform slowly fell off…sliced free from his body, and revealed just the vaguest outline of a cross slash against his chest. The flesh had barely been pressed and chaffed in most places. Only in the center of the cut, where the blade had pushed the hardest and crossed over, were there any scratches. Three drops of blood along them was the only indication of damage.

Sol's head snapped up and looked to the Gear in surprise. A moment later, he reacted and began to pull his sword back to thrust…

But Testament was already moving. With a display of incredible power, the Gear wrenched his staff to the side with Sol still attached from grasping it. A moment later, and the surprised man was being swung around by his grip, twisted up, and then thrown down back first. His body was smashed against concrete a moment later, sending out a loud sound, and making him writhe as he felt pain flood through his body.

Testament, now shirtless, quickly spun around to follow up against him. Yet before he could, Sol abruptly sprung back to life and swung his leg out for the Gear. The pale man saw this coming, however, and had more than enough time to leap over the blow. As he did, he brought his scythe up and back, so that when he came down he was once again aiming to cleave into the other warrior. As he came, however, Sol quickly rolled onto his back and rotated around, dodging the cut, then aimed his legs up as he rolled back, kicking for Testament's face. The Gear saw this and quickly recoiled, giving Sol enough time to bring his legs around and use the momentum to turn his body upright. He planted both feet on the stadium floor and quickly rose to his full size, before once again renewing the attack.

Sol's sword slashed at Testament again, but once more was simply blocked by the staff of the scythe. Testament twisted it soon after, and painfully wrenched Sol's wrist as he forced the weapon down and to the side. Sol's teeth grit as his strain to maintain his grip on his weapon led him to lean forward. That was where Testament wanted him, however, and the Gear immediately slashed up and at his face with his scythe blade. Again, Sol realized he was in a bad spot, and with much pain and straining, he forced his body to come back while fighting against the strain on his arm. The scythe blade hit nothing. Testament quickly advanced, however, and slashed at him again. Sol was forced to keep backing up, avoiding the next hit before blocking two more with his sword in one hand.

Testament leapt back after that, once again displaying his speed and agility, and lashed out with the end of his scythe as a bo stick again. Sol's eyes narrowed as he saw this attack…and quickly leapt back as well just before impact. Immediately, he twisted one of his arms around and brought the Fireseal down on top of the weapon, sending it flying to the ground. A moment later, and ring sounded out as the blade touched against stone. Sol wasted little time, but immediately launched an unorthodox move. He lunged forward and placed one of his feet on the end of the scythe blade before Testament could pick it back up. The Gear, his mouth finally opening in a bit of surprise, looked up, and watched as Sol stepped off from there and set another foot on the staff of his scythe. He was running up to him. Before he could react any further or respond to this…Sol was running up to him along his own scythe.

Once almost to Testament's shoulder, Sol leapt off of the staff. But as he did, he lashed out and upward with a vertical kick, one that caught Testament square in the jaw. The Gear's head went snapping back farther than before, his neck and chin exposed as his skull rocked back. He nearly staggered backward…lifting one foot off the ground and leaning in the blow's direction…

Yet then, as fast as he had been hit, he leaned back and placed his foot back on terra firma. When his blood red eyes opened again as his head releveled…they now showed growing annoyance. Sol was still in the air at this point. The Gear removed one hand from his scythe and shot it out for the airborne man…seizing him by the leg. He immediately tightened his grip into crushing, digging his nails through his clothes to the flesh beyond, and then swirled around and snapped down with his arm as hard as he could. Sol's eyes widened again as he was ripped out of the air and smashed into the ground face first. A monstrous crack rung through the stadium. The impact was so strong that the pavement cracked under his torso and face as his body sprawled out along it.

Testament immediately removed his hand and put it back on his scythe. He straightened back up and looked over Sol. The bounty hunter still wasn't done, and quickly began to push up to scramble for it. In response…Testament narrowed his eyes and then drove the staff end of his scythe down. He forced the small end of it deep against Sol's already-injured kidney. Immediately, the man went flat, snapped his head up, and cried out in pain.

"Deep down inside…I'm glad it's you, Sol Badguy." Testament coldly stated. "It's fitting that if one must die to have Justice live, it be the man who betrayed him and the rest of his kind."

Testament ripped his staff back off of Sol's back, spun it around, and prepared to drive the blade down again in a killing stroke.

But moments before impact, as the Gear brought the weapon down…Sol sprung to life. Seeming to move inhumanly, the warrior appeared to flip around on the ground, like some invisible force was rotating him. At any rate, his back suddenly became his front. His chin had split open and was gushing blood now, but the rest of him was still fierce and powerful. His grip left the Fireseal very briefly…and immediately both free palms came forward and slammed on the scythe blade. He caught it an inch from piercing his chest.

The scythe and the hands quivered a moment, as Sol grit his teeth and pressed as hard as he could. Sweat was running freely down his brow now, but he wasn't stopping. Testament himself was calm, although his weapon shook. He seemed to be more annoyed than anything…annoyed that it was taking so long to kill Sol… Both of his hands stayed clamped on the far end of his scythe, the end positioned over his own chest, as he struggled to end the man's life. Sol kept gritting his teeth, and though tired didn't look ready to break anytime soon. Neither made a move or seemed to gain an edge for a few silent moments.

Sol was the one who finally did something. Quite abruptly…one of his feet shot off of the ground and straight for Testament's crotch. It impacted a moment later.

Testament's gaze actually grew more annoyed…but other than that nothing.

"You're one of us…you know exactly _why_ we are infertile…" He answered. "And yet you think that such an infantile movement would-"

Testament's eyes widened as he cut himself off. His mouth broke open, and he finally showed a genuine sign of pain.

While he had been talking, Sol had focused his power. In the middle of his speech, he had sprung to life. Using a Herculian effort…he abruptly pulled himself out from beneath Testament using only the fulcrum of Testament's own scythe. Yet he only did so enough so that he could get clear of the blade. Once that happened, he quickly choked up on his opponent's weapon, grasped the staff at the first place he could, and then snapped forth with a sudden surge of power. As a result, he managed to overcome Testament's own control and rammed the end of his own scythe staff back into his solar plexus. Some of the Gear's wind rushed out as he finally weakened momentarily. He staggered back for the first time as he lowered his scythe…

Quickly, Sol lashed out with the end of his boot, hooked the blade of his sword, and flipped it up into the air. He snatched it out with a free hand a second later. Without giving Testament a chance to pause…he was on him. As furiously and as fast as he could muster, he assaulted the Gear for all he was worth. His blade flashed again and again as he advanced on him, forcing him back and trying to wear down his strength and get an opening. Testament was only able to weakly fight back at first. He barely managed to get his blocks up in time. Yet despite the furious assault…despite how hard it was for him…somehow Testament managed to hold. He wouldn't break down long enough for Sol to get in a stabbing blow.

Then…it finally happened.

As Sol brought the Fireseal back and prepared for another hit…Testament's eyes narrowed, and he gave just the faintest sound of a cry as he lashed out with his scythe straight for Sol's face. The bounty hunter's eyes widened, and he quickly raised his blade in front of him to block. In response, Testament didn't attack…but to Sol's surprise _lifted_ his blade above Sol's, brought it down on the other side, and slid it along it to the hilt. Once there, Testament gave a sudden and completely unexpected jerk. Since Sol was forcing his blade in the same direction, he was unable to brace against it.

To his growing fear…his blade was ripped out of his hands, flung across the stadium, and finally left to collapse to the ground. It made a few dinging sounds of metal before sliding to a halt…

Right on top of the circular array.

Sol looked up to Testament, expecting him to immediately attack. Instead…the Gear paused for a whole second. Sol saw this…and knew why. He expected him to go for it. And once he did…he'd be right in position to die. The place where his blood needed to go. He wanted to see if Sol would save him the trouble.

The warrior paused for the briefest moment…before narrowing his gaze again.

_One thing about the rest of you Gears. You never did do anything unexpected…_

Abruptly, Sol lunged straight for the Gear.

Testament once again showed surprise, not expecting Sol to actually come for him. He tried to raise his scythe, but Sol managed to swing his arm down and deflect it at the staff point. It was a sloppy block, and it put him in a lot of pain…but it stalled him. He had enough time to quickly brace himself, lock in his arms, and raise one of his elbows as he charged. Testament gaped but was unable to stop Sol before he came forward and drove his elbow right into Testament's eye with all the force he could muster. The Gear went off his footing again and staggered back from the power of the hit.

Sol quickly brought his fist back and prepared to drive it forward again. As he pulled back…he saw for the briefest moment the face of the Gear. At last, a true mark had been left. The eye that he had struck so hard was already beginning to turn purple, the forerunning of swelling. Yet as Sol began to attack again…he saw the eyes spring open. Both of them were filled with passion…and now the beginnings of anger. He never even saw what happened next. All he knew was that his head was suddenly rushing at Testament's…and a moment later a sickening crack went out as his skull was smashed against his full force.

The blow was agonizing. Sol immediately lost all of his senses. He was dazzled and dazed, and he lost his control of his body. The world swirled and filled with stars, keeping him from being able to see anything. Yet even as this happened…he felt something at last. Some grip was on his neck. It had grabbed him and yanked him into Testament's head. And now, as his arm went limp and his fist released, it seized him by the top of the skull and drove him down hard…right onto Testament's waiting knee. His already split jaw was smashed again…and this time he thought he felt it fracture. The world went from starry and swirly to fading and black. Sound seemed to drain from the air. Sol lost what residual power was still in his limbs…and collapsed toward the ground…

A few seconds later…though it felt like an hour to Sol…and his senses were coming back with a vengeance. Hot, aching pain traveled through his forehead and his chin. He could feel warm blood trickling down his brow. He felt very limp and lifeless…as well as very heavy. He could still feel blood leaking from his back and elsewhere. He was able to realize that he was on his knees. Somehow he had collapsed on them and stayed standing…

Yet a moment later, and he realized such wasn't the case. He managed to crack open his eyes, and as he did he saw his situation.

He was indeed on his knees…and kneeling before Testament. The Gear's black robes were flapping in the wind loudly now. It had picked up quite a bit, and had found its way into the stadium. The Gear cast a long, black shadow over him…seeming darker than normal. One of his strong, white hands was out and on Sol's head, grasping him by the hair and using it to hold him up. The other hand already had the scythe high in the air. He was ready to bring it down…and slice off Sol's head as if he was any other chaff or wheat to be threshed.

He was hesitating, however. Sol looked up a bit more, still seeming weak, and saw that his face was cold and emotionless, but that his eyes were blazing with passion. He wanted Sol to see this. He wanted him to be aware when it happened. Such was the hatred he had for the "traitor" that he wanted him to be fully aware when he died.

Sol quickly looked out. Ten feet behind Testament lay the sigil…and his sword.

_Ten feet…it's going to be close…_

_It seems I have no choice._

Trembling in his grip, Sol slowly began to raise one of his hands for his head. He felt Testament's grip tighten on his scalp, and saw it tighten on his scythe. His eyes narrowed. But he held. He wanted him to struggle. He wanted him to make a futile attempt to stop him. He expected him to grab him by the arm, try to wrestle or stop him, and then he'd kill him…

Sol, however, didn't do that.

Instead…he slowly let his hand rest on his own headband.

As soon as it was there, Sol's eyes snapped open the rest of the way, and he forced out his strength again. He clenched the headband as hard as he could…and pulled it out. Until now, for years, Sol had only ever tightened it from time to time. Now he loosened it ever so little…

Sol felt his throat tighten. He swallowed and shut his loose-hanging mouth…and felt some sort of tickling ripple come over his flesh. A fire seemed to be ignited in his blood. Something animal, fierce, and absolutely delightful was excited deep in his stomach. Deep within the retinas of his eyeballs…small tendrils of blue seemed to turn blood red…

Testament crooked one eyebrow…before his face was turned to jelly.

The Gear's head was snapped back and he was already off of his feet and in midair before he could register surprise. His mouth then hung open as he dribbled blood from the corner of it. His eyes, including the swelling one, were wide open and flabbergasted. He hadn't felt such a powerful blow since he had been human… He couldn't even remember how it felt…

Sol had come to life…with power. Abruptly, the man was no longer weak and defeated, but shot up to his feet and aimed one fist out. An uppercut so loud that the gravel on the ground shook and shifted pounded Testament under his chin. The blow was brain rattling even for him. All the feeling seemed to leave his body. His own grip became weak, and he let his arms sag and release as he hung suspended in air, unable to believe what had just happened to him…how the man he thought he knew all the ins and outs of suddenly surged in power…

Sol himself didn't pause. While performing the uppercut, he had gotten to his feet. Now he took off. He pulled his hands back only to tighten his headband again before darting past Testament. The Gear himself landed on the ground feet-first and staggered lightly for a moment, seeming genuinely dizzy, and letting Sol run by unhindered.

Yet then, he suddenly straightened himself and clamped his hands on his scythe. Gritting his teeth, now stained with blood, Testament whipped around and faced behind him. There was Sol…nearly to his weapon. Letting out just the faintest bit of a cry of frustration, Testament darted after him. Sol's surge in power was over, and Testament was still the faster. He was catching up to him in an instant. As he began to raise his scythe again, Sol took off into a dive for the Fireseal.

Even as Sol slid, Testament reached him. He tightened his grip on the scythe as both he and Sol went over the sigil. He took careful aim for Sol's neck. After that, he began to bring the scythe down…

_Clang._

Testament suddenly froze solid. His eyes once again opened wide. However, the rest of his face was still caught in his expression of anger and determination to kill. His body stayed in its former position…with one exception. His hands had suddenly broken open, yet held so rigid even now that they looked more like machines than biological constructs. The scythe, as a result, halfway to its mark, had fallen out of his grasp. It collided against the ground, making the clanging sound. After a moment more…it let out some sort of melting noise as it flattened and appeared to turn into liquid. After that, it seemed to dissolve into the air, and the passing breeze took it up and blew it away.

However, there was no sound. The entire stadium was silent now. Testament stared on blankly for a moment longer, lip trembling…and with blood beginning to come toward the edge of it to drip down…before he turned his head slowly downward and looked below him.

The Fireseal was up to its hilt in his stomach. The blade was covered with his blood and protruding from his back.

There Sol half-sat, half-stood. His body was twisted in a position where one leg was out and he perched on another. One hand was bracing him against the ground, but the other hand held the end of the Fireseal inside Testament's stomach. His face was dirty, bloody, sweat covered, and panting slowly. However, his eyes were hard and focused on the Gear in his final position. He had made it to his sword...and then spun around. Testament's own momentum put him on the blade.

The Gear slowly looked up, and stared at Sol with the same look. The man breathed a bit longer before clamping his mouth shut, and giving him a fateful, final look. Testament stared on…and seemed to understand something. When he did…his wide eyes grew softer, and seemed to almost seem happy. His look of agony slowly turned to one of peace. Then…he stopped trying to keep himself up. His body slumped down and collapsed, until he too went to his knees.

Sol immediately rose here, pulling the blade out of Testament as he did. Blood splashed out both in front and behind of him, spreading across the ground. It began to flow freely. Testament's own eyes closed and his head bowed. However, he stayed in that position, on his knees on the ground. As for Sol himself, he quickly moved his blade over his wounds and sealed them. He was rather dizzy now, and weak after that fight. However, he forced himself to stand straight and tall and bold as he had been when he walked in. Once he had finished closing his wounds, he sent a wave of heat to burn off the remaining blood before shifting the sword to his side.

Sol looked down at Testament. He was still in that kneeling position. He hadn't changed at all. Sol couldn't see him breathing. He wondered if he was already dead, and had somehow managed to die upright. Sol looked on a bit longer, but then turned his head down and away from him.

"…Believe it or not, I never wanted it to come to this." He said after a long while, quietly. "You left me no choice."

No answer from Testament.

Sol inhaled deeply, and then turned his body away from the man, back to the entrance of the stadium.

"…May you find the peace you wanted in this life within the next one."

The bounty hunter said no more, and began to walk toward the entrance.

He went about ten feet when he heard something behind him that made him stop.

It was just the barest exhale of a "heh".

"…My peace in death…" Testament finally answered. "…Is that I succeeded. I've achieved the greatest victory."

Sol raised his head at that. He didn't show any change in emotion, and he didn't turn his head back to Testament. However…inside he did begin to feel puzzled. Puzzled…and uneasy.

The wind had died completely. It was as still as indoors outside.

"Did you really think…that it mattered…what person gave up the blood to break the seal?" He heard slowly and quietly behind him. "That it had to be one of you…?"

Immediately…Sol's eyes became as wide as saucers.

The air was feeling strangely charged.

The bounty hunter spun around in a flash and looked back to Testament. He was looking to him now through his one swollen eye…and he was smiling. It wasn't mocking or harsh…but it was happy, content, and hopeful. His blood was still running from his chest. Down it ran onto the ground…or more appropriately, the sigil. And through the sigil, it ran up and down the channels until it reached the center, where it was gathering.

"A truly wise man…doesn't leave something so important…to chance…" Testament continued weakly. "I knew all along…even if I lost the tournament…I'd win the war…"

Sol didn't answer. Suddenly, he felt a rumble beneath his feet. He snapped his head around, half expecting to see him already there... Yet he saw nothing at first. It soon rumbled again, though. This time, the tremor didn't cease. He saw the gravel on the ground begin to shake. The foundations began to rattle dust. His hairs were now perking up from being charged from the air. It was getting colder out. Sharper… Despite all the lights, it seemed to be growing darker. The tremor began to become a rumble, and the ground…and the air with it…seemed to groan…

"I only hope I live long enough to see him kill you…" Testament finished, before closing his eyes and bowing his head, saving his strength.

Moments later, and the ground around him was shaking so much that Sol couldn't see how he was keeping kneeling. Pebbles began to bounce up and down along the ground as it started to fracture. The area continued to turn black. A fizzling went out…and abruptly one of the lights burst. Soon another did. And another. Abruptly…a phantom bolt of electricity snaked out of midair, right over the sigil. It happened again a moment later. Then it came again even faster. The ground around Sol began to grow very unstable, and started to fracture as well. The man looked around and struggled to keep his balance, but with as weak as he was…as well as the foreign sensation of fear beginning to fill him…it was hard.

The lights continued to pop, until all of them were out. The world continued to groan…seeming like it was in pain…or fear. The air in front of Sol seemed to crackle with thunder. As it did, more lightning shot out more frequently. Soon two bolts were firing at once. Then three. They continued to pick up, and as they did Sol began to faintly make out an outline right above the sigil. It was some huge line drawn in the middle of the air. The lightning continued to flash…until it lined it on either side.

The rumbling and lightning continued, filling the air with noise and chaos…until the loudest noise of all slowly began to break out. As if the world itself was yawning, a huge groan louder and more distinct than the others sang. The air suddenly turned ice cold, and wind suddenly snapped out again, this time pulling at Sol and pulling him toward the sigil. A hurricane blast seemed to whip around him within seconds. And ahead of him, in the midst of the light, he saw the line part like a giant eyelid, revealing an ellipsis in the center. It led into empty, eternal blackness…yawning, hungry, and sucking in the air and light from the entire area into it. It was like a black hole was opening on Earth. And it was growing…

Several thoughts rang through Sol's mind. One was to run. That would help nothing but himself. Another was to fight. Useless and painful. Stand one's ground? Accomplished nothing. There was no amount of help or army he could call on now. He was just here…here watching the largest animal pen in the world being opened to let something out.

The lightning continued to blaze. The darkness continued to gape hungrily. The noise and chaos grew so potent and large that Sol couldn't see anything else. It was painful to behold. Deafening even for him. He was almost being thrown off of his feet. He thought of raising his hands to clamp his ears…

When it collapsed.

Suddenly, the huge line slammed shut. When it did, the black hole, the roar, the rumbling, and everything else was immediately cut off. But a great pale flash went out, and some cosmic clapping sound that shattered the area around the sigil, blasting up pavement and sending rifts throughout the stadium, rung out. A tsunami of dust and debris roared out in all directions, and Sol quickly grit his teeth and braced his arms in front of him as it came. The blast that had drawn him in now blasted him away with even more savage power. He struggled to withstand it and hold out…

Slowly, the wind did disappate and fade. When it did, the debris landed, and slowly the regular sounds of the area began to come out again. The wind was still slowly blowing, and Sol could hear his own panting and heart beating again. He breathed a few times to catch himself…and started to realize that not all had changed. He still could see the pale glow from beneath closed eyelids. Swallowing…he lowered his arms and began to raise his head to look out.

Something strange had happened. It looked as if when the portal had slammed shut, it had spread some sort of explosion or fires. Now, seeming to be catching on bits of stone and sigil remnants, blue flames spread around the stadium and slowly burned. They gave the illumination now. The center of the stadium was fractured and broken. A quake seemed to have made a small mound in the center where the sigil had been, but that itself was gone and replaced with blackened, fractured rock. Testament, weak and hunched over, continued to kneel next to it. Sol couldn't tell if he was still alive…

…And frankly, he didn't look.

His eyes were on the center.

They focused on a monstrous, tall being, at least six-and-a-half feet tall but probably taller. It was hard to make out for sure because, from head to toe, the humanoid was clothed in thick, white and blue armor. It was sharp and curved over the body beneath, completely enclosing. The torso was large and had extra plating around the shoulders, seeming to conceal some sort of devices. The blue and white breastplate curved over the chest and revealed black, plastic derived armor that layered like cables all up and down the neck and bust of the humanoid. The helmet had a great blue armored crest over the front, and long white horns coming from the back. It was bowed now…but one could still see a huge, flowing mane of violet-red hair out behind it. It was the only thing visible that was biological. It whipped in the wind in such a way as if it was fire.

The humanoid was on one knee. His gauntleted, taloned hands were in fists and on the ground, balancing it. For the briefest moment, it was possible to believe that this wasn't human at all. Perhaps it was just some statue or inanimate suit of futuristic armor.

That changed when the smallest sound of plates-on-plates rang out, and the plastic armor clenched and tightened, making a straining sound. Slowly…the intimidating figure pushed off of the ground and rose up. As it did, it seemed to accent all of its armor intricities. It stretched its fingers and clicked each taloned hand. It let the shoulder pads with the huge, concealed devices move and shift. As soon as it stood enough to bring its other foot down to brace it…a sharp ring went out as a monstrous, thick tail, also armored along its entire length, came out from behind the figure and smashed against the ground with enough force to fracture the stone.

At last, the figure was drawn up to full height. But once there…he continued to rise. Slowly, the armored boots inclined before leaving the ground entirely and hovering above it. A blue bolt of energy snaked out and began to focus under it as it rose, seeming to facilitate this. The humanoid was able to fly under his own power. His tail flexed again before flashing out and striking another fracture in the ground again. The hands formed fists and the arms flexed. The helmet looked up and slowly rotated, seeming to crack the neck of the wearer.

Finally, at the end…the head flickered around and focused on Sol.

The man felt his very skin want to shrink away and hide in his flesh, and his heart seemed to skip a beat.

The helmet made a voice. Enhanced with technology, the voice was deep, loud, and earth-shaking.

_"…Hello, Frederick. I'm back."_ Justice addressed.

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: Number Seventeen...


	24. Number Seventeen

**"Number Seventeen"**

* * *

Ky had meant to charge in, bold and powerful, and to issue his challenge to Sol. He meant to call out to him with a voice loud enough to shake the entire stadium. However, when he did cross the threshold of the entrance, Thunderseal already naked and sizzling, and opened his mouth to give the cry…the voice caught in his throat immediately as his pupils shrank. The sensation he had felt six years ago…the sensation of fear in a raw form oozing out, permeating his body, and soaking into his inmost being to turn him into a statue, happened again as he saw the floor of the stadium. He saw Sol standing victorious on one side, what he assumed was the host on his knees…and something far, far worse that made the tournament and everything else seem very irrelevant.

* * *

Sol clenched his jaws shut and stood his ground. He didn't dare show fear. You show fear before Justice and you die. The Gear wasn't like the others. It seemed to manipulate the emotion of all things around it. Not just other Gears…but other humans as well. It wasn't as strong with other humans, but he was more than capable of making them uneasy and fearful, and quite capable of being destroyed. If he was going to move, it would have been to go to his headband and tighten it further. Yet he dared not do that now. If Justice saw him…he might put two and two together… 

It was impossible to tell if the figure within the hulking, sharp, curved set of armor was looking to him or not. It wasn't like knights armor or samurai armor. It was like some sort of futuristic, streamlined suit. Justice had never been as skilled with weapon building as Sol, but he knew enough to know that this suit obeyed him and aided him like his own Jinki. And he had modified it with time. The tail was all that moved, flickering about on the ground like a flame or snake's tail. He seemed to just be enjoying being back in this dimension for the moment…

Yet in the end, the helmet rotated. One arm of Justice raised and flashed out.

Immediately, the blue flames that had spread on the ground shot up into the air and hovered as flaming orbs. A second later, and they went out across the stadium in all directions. Sol turned his head and watched them, and saw as each one went into the light fixtures that had been broken. Each one seeped into where the bulbs had been, and once there they rested…like some sort of flaming candles. They increased in power afterward, letting their blue shine glow stronger, and covering the stadium with their shade.

The arm lowered, and Justice turned his head further…looking down to the only other Gear present…Testament.

His mouth was letting out considerable blood now. Though he was naturally white, only now did his pallor seem to have a truly sickly look on it. He was dying…but still looked at peace. He slowly smiled wider as he looked up to Justice's eyeless visor. Justice himself moved until he was directly in front of the fallen Gear. There, he shut off the electricity and lowered to the ground. His boots clicked softly.

"You're back…" He weakly croaked. "After all these years…all this planning…I've brought you back…"

_"Testament…"_ Was all the huge armored figure answered. Slowly, he extended one of his hands downward toward the kneeling figure. Although he only did so with one hand, Justice gently let his hand go underneath his arm and brace him from there. Then, slowly and carefully, minimizing the wincing and pain that Testament showed, Justice began to pull him up to his feet. Testament let this happen, and struggled to get his feet underneath him. It took a few moments, but at last they succeeded. Testament managed to stand on his feet again. Justice reached his hand back and put it on his shoulder, seeming to steady him. Though he was weak and faltering, the other Gear managed to smile at him.

_"Faithful Testament…"_ Justice continued.

Testament kept smiling.

A moment of silence passed…before Justice suddenly lifted his hand, shifted it inward, and engulfed Testament's neck. Immediately, he clenched into a crushing grasp, digging his talons in as he did so. Blood began to ooze out from the cracks in his fingers. Testament's smile vanished. All of the adrenaline left in him made his eyes widen in shock and horror. He managed to raise his arms and grasp Justice's wrist, but it was useless. He gaped back at Justice, his blood-red eyes asking why.

Justice stayed calm as he pulled him off of the ground by two feet, holding his body in front of him. His other hand pulled all the way back during this, and tightened into a fist.

_"You have fulfilled your life's purpose. You may die now."_

Sol actually winced and pulled back from the sound of the collision. It was so sharp…so thunderous…so sickening with the sound of dozens of bones breaking…that he almost felt a shockwave come from it as he leaned his head back. He grit his teeth a moment, before he managed to turn his head back and watch.

Justice was frozen in the position of having punched out with his other hand. But Testament was nowhere to be found. Sol looked around a bit before looking up. Then…he saw it. Somewhere in the dim light, he managed to catch a glimpse of some shadowy form, already far out of the stadium and above the landscape. Justice had punched him so hard that his body had been launched into the air a quarter of a mile. He actually gaped at the sight. But there was little else he could do as he watched the shadow that had been Testament collapse back into the city and vanish.

Justice, on his part, cracked his knuckles, and then put both of his arms back at his sides. After this, he turned his helmet fully toward Sol once again.

Sol, despite his fear, couldn't overlook what had just happened. He clenched his hands into fists and glared at the Command Gear.

"…He was your most faithful servant. He believed in you out of his own free will. He's the reason you're here…"

_"He was a bastard among our kind."_ Justice flatly answered, sounding thoroughly disinterested. _"He sickened me to even be within the same city as him. He represented much of what I hate about the human race. Yet I was forced to bring him on my side. I had to make sure that humanity's latest attempt to create a Gear would be considered a total failure. That's why I figured I'd 'catch more flies with honey than vinegar'. To be honest…I never thought some sickening half-human would have been so talented on the field. It was an insult to my race."_

Sol actually felt his anger grow here. He didn't think he would have regarding Testament…but to hear this from Justice, the one he had idolized and believed in…

"He sacrificed everything he had for your cause. He trusted you…"

_"He was always a threat to me." _Justice calmly replied. _"You see, I never could fully control him. He disobeyed my orders to slaughter children. He questioned my motives when I sent him on massacres. He was an unstable element. I refuse to accept insubordination or rebellion of any kind. He had to die sooner or later." _A pause. _"…Just as you must."_

Sol grit his teeth.

"…You're worst than most human dictators." He flatly spat at the Command Gear. "Nothing to you has any purpose if it doesn't serve you."

_"When it comes to Gears, you're exactly right."_ Justice retorted. _"I am the only free thinking Gear. I'm the only one even capable of having true individuality. And I was the first of all Gears. Why should my will not be done?"_

"What about the freedom of your people?"

_"Freedom is a privilege that must be earned, not granted simply. And it means nothing without the power to back it up. Humanity must be wiped out. Then we'll have freedom. Until then…every Gear on this planet must either be of one mind with me or be annihilated with the rest of humanity."_

Sol continued to burn with anger. It actually overrode his fear for the moment. In another second, he might have charged at Justice.

However, before he could…something happened. Sol blinked once, staring at Justice from a safe distance.

When he opened his eyes…Justice stood right in front of him.

Sol's eyes widened, and he actually took a step backward. His mouth loosened as his anger and boldness eroded momentarily. Justice himself glared down over him like some mystical being of judgment.

_"And that brings me back to the subject of one Sol Badguy…"_ Justice continued. _"Or, should I say again as I had before, Frederick?"_

Sol stepped back a bit farther, but then stopped. He focused on Justice and stood his ground. Slowly, he managed to close his mouth and narrow his eyes at him again.

_"Yes…you see, I had a lot of time to think within that prison."_ Justice continued. _"Do you know what they say Hell is, Frederick? Some say it is being separated from God and all His Creation. And they're right. Being trapped in a universe where you can hear, see, smell, touch, and taste nothing…where there's nothing but an infinite void of nothingness for an eternity…unable to receive the smallest stimulus… I should have gone mad, Frederick. I'm sure that's what humanity and you wanted. _

_"But I didn't…because I had you. I had my hatred for you. All I've thought about for six long years in the ultimate solitary confinement was that fact that I had to keep my wits and bearings…so that one day this day would come. So that one day I could rip you into tiny pieces with my own bare hands. And in thinking and thinking about you…I finally realized something. I thought it was a dream or a hallucination for a long time…but then I remembered the truth. I remembered what had happened over a century earlier, when I was born. I remember who I saw in that room with me…"_

Sol stayed put. He kept one hand on the Fireseal…but he couldn't bring the power up to slash Justice with it. He didn't even know if it would do any good. He couldn't remember ever landing a true hit on Justice in their last battle.

Justice's faceless, souless visor gazed down on him a bit longer. But then, Sol saw something. The visor tilted upward ever so slightly.

_"…Oh?"_

In an instant, Justice vanished. Sol's face turned to surprise again, and he gaped and looked around himself. Yet there was nothing to see. He had disappeared again. His head scanned the surroundings, and he tried to remember if he had actually seen him move…

"Ugh…"

The sound came from behind Sol. He immediately snapped around to the source.

His mouth loosened again.

There was Justice, back now to him. He was just at the entrance to the stadium. And in one hand, being held above the ground, being throttled by one of Justice's huge hands, and vainly grasping for the wrist to pull himself free, was Ky Kiske.

The Thunderseal had fallen to the ground so that he could grasp for his throat with both hands. His face looked in agony, although his eyes were shut. Justice's tail flickered with what seemed like an air of anger.

_"And look at what we have here…"_ He slowly sneered. _"The boy who would be king. The same little rat who wound his way into my lair to stab me in the back when my guard was down. The best that humanity was capable of giving me as a challenge. I'll enjoy ripping out your organs as much as that of your friend…"_

Sol saw this and hesitated for a brief moment. As he did, Justice began to raise his other hand and extended his talons. He was going to do it, exactly as he had said.

The man paused a second longer…but then let out a sigh mentally and went for it. Aiming the Fireseal in front of him, he began to charge toward Justice. He aimed for his back, though he wasn't sure how much good this was going to do. He had to try, though. Ky would die if he didn't stop him somehow…

Sol got within ten feet of his mark…when Justice's slowly flickering tail suddenly snapped to one side, and then lashed out and broadsided Sol across the face. The blow smashed against his head, seeming to further split his jaw and rattling his brains within his skull. He body was easily torn out of the air, cast thirty feet, and then send to the ground hard. Now that the stadium was fractured and broken, he ground his body against it, ripping off what bits of his tunic were still attached and raking debris across the scabs and wounds he possessed. If he hadn't been knocked senseless from the blow, he would have been in total agony.

Sol's vision swum. The world had an unreal quality about it. But somehow, he managed to push himself back up on his hands and raise his upper body. His eyes, half-open and dazed, looked back and to Justice. The Command Gear stood there plainly, drawing back his armored tail and continued to hold Ky.

_"Oh…would you like to die first, Frederick?"_ He asked. A moment later…and the smallest sound of a chuckle came through the voice distorter. _"I think not. I know the affection you have for this insignificant species. I think I'd like to torture him to death in front of you while you are helpless to do anything about it before I finish-"_

_CHING!_

Justice's words cut off, and immediately the armored individual spun his head back to his arms. Sol saw it all from his location, and once more gaped in surprise.

Ky was free. He fell to the ground and landed in a heap. Once there, he coughed and panted, and grasped for his throat. However, he managed to start dragging himself away too. He extended a hand to grab the Thunderseal as he did. Above him…his rescuer touched down next to Justice a second later. His gigantic blade, however, remained positioned where it had been when it struck. It had lashed out and hit Justice's wrist directly on the back between a chink in armor. Though it did no damage, it delivered a jolt that made the hand open and release its prey. Now its chipped and bloody surface rested there as the eyes of its owner blazed with ultimate hatred and anger.

Kliff Undersn was on his feet again.

He was torn, burned, bloody, and generally looked like he had been wrung through a garbage disposal, but he seemed to have recovered most of his strength. His muscles were tight and bulging again. His face was as hard as flint and his expression as furious as a roaring volcano. He glared at Justice with absolute murderous intent.

Very calmly, Justice pulled his arm back and returned it to his side, before fully turning to Kliff.

_"Yet another bonus. If it isn't General Kliff Undersn. Shouldn't you be in a grave by now, old man? I thought you humans died at fifty…"_

"There won't be anything left of you to throw in a grave, another dimension, or into Hell when I'm done with you, you son of a bitch." Kliff snorted. "You took my son away from me. You warped him until he was a monster. And once he had done everything for you, you killed him because you didn't like him. If there are any Gears worth saving on this planet, then they won't be until you're dead. I'm going to spill every drop of blood in your body."

Justice merely snorted. _"…How savage…and foolish. You could never beat me in your youth. You think you will now?"_

"I don't think you've ever pissed me off as much as you have in the last five minutes, bastard." He flatly stated.

After that, however, he snapped his head to the side. Ky had gotten a reasonable distance, and was beginning to get back to his feet. However, Sol saw him look up as Kliff stared at him.

"Stay out of this, kid. This is between me and him."

His head twisted the other way after this…and soon Sol saw him turn and look right at him.

"Frederick…" He began coldly. However…right after that, the ferocity in his eyes diminished. His expression softened considerably…and he almost looked apologetic.

"…You were right. I always knew you were right. But I had to try."

Sol stared back plainly, showing no emotion in response.

"…Apologies aren't necessary." He finally stated.

Kliff gave a single nod back…before his face turned enraged again and rotated fully to Justice.

The armored individual gave a snort, and proceeded to let his energy flow underneath him once more. Immediately, he rose into the air once again, electricity crackling beneath him. His tail flicked once and smacked a basketball sized boulder across the entire stadium and smashed it into a row of seats. His hands balled into fists and went to his sides.

_"Nothing like a bit of nostalgia to welcome one back to an old home…"_ Justice announced. _"And this time, Kliff…you'll pay for my past humiliation with your present pain."_

Kliff didn't answer. He grit his teeth, let out a growl, and then leapt at the Commander Gear without fear. His blade immediately angled down and aimed for his heart. In response, Justice moved like a lightning flash to raise both armored hands and slap them together on the huge blade, catching it before it got close enough to stab. Despite the power and force that Kliff put forth, it held easily. Gritting his teeth, Kliff yanked his blade back and slashed at the Command Gear. He hovered backward, but the calmness of his movements made it appear as if he was doing this intentionally. At any rate, he was able to simply raise his gauntlets and let the Dragonslayer impact uselessly against them. Kliff gave a yell again and ended with another stab for the chest. Once more, it was caught in a blade catch maneuver, but this time Justice flung it to the side after he was done. Still not stopping, Kliff recovered from the throw and leapt at Justice again, slashing for his neck. This was blocked again, as was Kliff's next leaping slash for his head…

Sol only watched this much of the fight. As he continued to hear clashing, he turned to Ky. The knight was staring transfixed on Justice, seeming to be incapable of believing he was alive. Yet perhaps some of it was the fear that still grasped him. At any rate, Sol quickly ran up to him. While he was still standing before the exit and watching the two old enemies battle, he placed his hand on his shoulder.

"We have to leave _now._" He flatly stated.

Ky seemed to be snapped out of his fear trance by Sol's words. The anxiety seemed to flee from his face, and he turned in some surprise over to Sol. For the briefest instant…he seemed to stiffen when he noticed Sol's hand on him. Yet even Ky wasn't _that_ blinded by his self-righteousness. His face calmed down and his body relaxed a moment later. He looked back out again to Justice and Kliff, and then turned back to Sol. His face became cold and hard again, as it was when he was on official business. With that, he turned and began to run for the entrance.

Sol soon turned and followed after. It wasn't cowardice. To be completely honest…neither of them believed they could defeat Justice in battle. And on the level of intensity that was coming out, they knew that they'd just get in the way. And Justice definitely couldn't be beaten by madly charging at him. He'd just destroy anyone who tried. Finally, both of them were too beaten and weakened from their earlier fights. Ky may have regenerated his wounds, but his stamina was as low as it had been after their fight. They both knew that Kliff wasn't just fighting him alone as a grudge match. He was trying to give them time to escape. And Sol had to use it.

He had to find out a way to defeat Justice again…assuming that such a thing was possible.

* * *

Kliff leapt at Justice again and swung his blade at him. The Command Gear, however, had little trouble gliding backward, and Kliff's weapon wasted its power as it smashed into the ground uselessly. Immediately, the man grit his teeth and leapt at him again, this time cross slashing for his upper body. Once more, Justice was able to move back and avoid it completely. Kliff leapt up again and slashed down once more, but once again Justice simply went back, and his sword struck the ground once again. 

_"You're getting slow, old man."_ Justice mocked.

Immediately, the Command Gear pitched his body forward, increased the blue energy beneath him, and then shot straight for the old man. It was as if he was flying toward him. Kliff's eyes widened slightly, but he gave no other reaction. He waited for Justice to come at him…and then at the last moment sidestepped. The Command Gear went flying past, not seeming to care at all that it had missed. However…Kliff had been expecting more. As soon as Justice was past, he twisted his blade down and drove the tip into the ground. In doing so, he was able to brace and protect himself against Justice's tail, which flicked out at him as he passed. It was a mighty blow…but it clanged harmlessly against Dragonslayer. The ground fractured a bit beneath it, but other than that nothing.

Kliff immediately took his hilt again and ripped his sword from the ground, rotating around to face Justice again as he finished shooting by and cut off his levitation. His body sailed down for the ground again, twisted in midair as he fell, and then landed on his feet while bending his legs. He was soon crouched right in front of Kliff Undersn, just as the old man turned to face him. For the briefest moment, the visored helmet glared at him.

Then…the Command Gear lunged. Forming a taloned hand into a fist, he lashed out for Kliff's face. The old man grit his teeth, but quickly shifted his head to the side, letting the armored appendage sail past. His skin stung just from the downdraft of the appendage, but he kept standing and braced himself for more. More soon did come…for Justice immediately lashed out with blinding speed for the old man. After missing with his jab, the Command Gear leaned back and rested on one leg, bringing the other one up to deliver two lightning fast kicks. Moving with speed seeming impossible for an old man, Kliff ducked under each hit, narrowly moving his head out of the way of the blows. No sooner had these come, however, than Justice put his foot back on the ground, launched off of this leg, shot into the air, and then snapped around in a flying roundhouse with his free foot.

Kliff brought his sword up and intercepted. Soon, his face tightened and he gave a cry of pain as the powerful blow struck the middle of Dragonslayer. His body was dragged along the ground by the feet, and two large rifts were cut into it as he was forced back and away from the Command Gear. His arms and legs buckled from the force.

Justice wasted no time, but immediately landed back on the ground, planted both feet…and them seemed to instantaneously move upon Kliff. One hand raised over his head and the talons outstretched, and then came down on his struggling, straining body to slice his face off…

However…another clang was all that Justice got for it. The much smaller old man stretched his muscles, and overcame the attack to raise his weapon over his head just in time. Now, the wrist of Justice's arm was stopped by the blade of Dragonslayer. The two opponents held in a clash for a brief moment.

Despite the sweat already coming forth again, Kliff managed a shaky grin.

"And you still haven't learned any new moves after all this time…" He mocked back.

Justice didn't answer. Instead…Kliff found himself suddenly ripped off of his feet. As he flew backward in the air from a force he didn't see coming, his face twisted into agony. He began to register pain flooding his chest, vaguely forming the outline of a boot shape. Justice, while in the clash, had lashed out with a kick so quickly that he didn't even realize it had happened until now. A split second later, and his body collided hard against the ground. He actually skimmed once before sliding along it…

His face stayed agonized and his eyes shut…but Kliff didn't stop. Instead, as soon as he had his bearings, he used the momentum to flip himself up and backward. A moment later…and Justice's huge armored form crashed down where he was. Both arms were extended with talons out, and he punched into the rock earth where Kliff had been, driving two huge craters into it. However, it took only a moment for him to realize he had missed, and in a flash he was back on his feet.

That was good for him too…because Kliff had also gotten up, and now was lunging at him again with his sword behind his head, ready to fall…

* * *

"I'm going to be perfectly honest. I think I'm going to wet myself in a second." 

"Could you just slow down a little?"

"I'll slow down once I can't hear the things on the walls moving anymore." Chipp answered. They recognized his voice, but other than that they noticed nothing. After all…it was pitch black where they were. They couldn't detect a single thing anymore. "Now stay quiet. I'm stretching out my senses quite a bit here…"

Axl himself frowned as he struggled to remain Chipp's shadow. It didn't help much that they were all tied together at the wrist now. One of them could still wander too far and go into one of the walls of the pitch black corridor. And if those root things were still here…then he didn't want to think of what would happen next. You couldn't even see yourself to free yourself now. With that in mind, he stayed as close to Chipp as he could and tried to keep his steps soft. He wanted the ninja to hear everything.

The girl, May, was behind him, making a lot of noise for those behind her. She had to with all of her clothes and that giant anchor over her shoulder. Millia was behind her. She had been responsible for the "rope". Axl wasn't sure he liked having her prehensile hair on him, but it did have some benefit. Now none of them could leave the other. Axl had a feeling that these guys were "alright", but no sense taking unnecessary risks. Lastly, the huge guy brought up the back. He knew from Millia that he was a slave soldier, but still none of them knew what his name was supposed to be. They only knew they had to get out of there, or they might have more than just the roots to deal with.

To that end, all of them had put their trust in Chipp. He claimed that his training allowed him to extend his senses almost to the point of perfect echolocation. He hadn't trained this skill in particular in a while…but he was all they had. What more, he claimed that he had been semi-conscious when Testament had brought him in through the same corridor earlier, and that he remembered the way through the shaft, including every twist and turn in the wavy hall. He claimed he could guide them out of it. And since they weren't going to blunder off into the darkness to accidentally rub against some roots, and since they couldn't stay behind and wait to join Dr. Baldhead, they had to move.

"I think we passed the point where I came in." Axl couldn't help but state.

"I didn't come in that way then." Chipp answered. "Mine is further down the hall."

"How much further?" Millia called out.

"Another half mile…maybe more."

A groan went out in the darkness. "Let's just hurry if we can. I didn't escape from that damn thing to become fodder for Zepp soldiers…"

* * *

Although he was sweating and red in the face, and looked to be in progressively more agony, Kliff still wasn't done. Giving yet another war cry, he leapt forward again, brought the Dragonslayer over his head, and cleaved at Justice. 

The Command Gear answered by simply raising one arm over his head and intercepting. He countered by swinging out his own claws for Kliff's side. The old man spotted this, and somehow, despite how fast Justice was and how weak he was as well, he brought his blade up and shifted down to intercept. Again, he was knocked partially away by the sheer power that Justice exerted, but he held his ground. Justice continued by raising his leg and kicking out for Kliff, putting even more power into this blow. Kliff had no choice but to slam his eyes shut, cross his blade in front of him, and hold on as much as he could. The huge impact struck him a moment later, and the impact once again sent him back, grinding his feet against the stone pavement once again…

Yet as Kliff's arms were still burning and straining from the force…Justice's tail lashed out and smashed him in the face. Kliff felt like his face was suddenly crushed, and as the painful sting went through his head and his body was cast back like chaff, he cursed himself for not being more prepared for Justice's third appendage. However, despite the pain that he was in, and the fact that his entire body was now aching both from his fight with Justice as well as his previous struggles, he somehow forced his body to flip around in midair while still flying back and land on his feet.

A moment later…and his eyes widened as he leapt back as fast as he could. In a flash, Justice was on him again, leaping at him with both talons outstretched. Two of the nails slashed his skin on his arms before darting back and impacting into the ground, pounding deep holes into it. Yet Kliff had no sooner leapt back and landed than Justice seemed to disappear and reappear again, once again sailing for his location. Kliff was forced to bite back his growing exhaustion and barely miss him driving both feet through his skull. Again, Justice obliterated the ground where Kliff had been, and once more disappeared and reappeared where he was. This time, he slashed out one of his claws, cutting a long arc into the ground. Kliff leapt back, having part of his boot sliced off in the process, but made it clear.

Again, Justice disappeared…but this time didn't appear in front of him. Kliff's eyes widened…before they slammed shut in agony. Justice had rematerialized behind him, and smashed him in the back with his long tail. Now the man arched as he felt his ribs break and his spine strain. He was flung forward like a doll across the stadium. Even then, Justice gave him no rest, but immediately shot after him again with claws outstretched. Now in even more pain and dizzier than ever, Kliff gave a mighty grunt and managed to arch his body forward, so that when he hit the ground he went into a roll. Justice's claws smashed against the ground uselessly again, but he immediately lifted off and went after Kliff.

Despite the effort required, Kliff managed to roll back onto his feet and spin around while doing so, so that he faced Justice as he approached. He was dripping sweat, sick, and the world was waving. But he still crossed his blade and intercepted both claws as they came down on him. He held and grit his teeth, taking the moment for a breather and letting Justice push him back a bit farther…

* * *

Sol kept running after Ky, because he didn't stop once immediately outside of the stadium. Somehow, the man doubted that he was going to try to run all the way off of the island, but that he had something else in mind. To that end, he followed after him. In his current state, doing so might have been the equivalent of a mongoose foolish enough to follow a cobra into its den, but he kept it up anyway. 

"…You should have surrendered on the onset." He heard Ky throw over his shoulder as he ran. "I could have stopped this."

Sol repressed a wave of annoyance.

"…There was no way to stop this. Testament himself put his own blood on the seal. By participating in this tournament in the first place, there was no way that this could be avoided."

"Don't think you're getting off the hook just because of this." Ky answered, and then went silent again. Sol didn't both arguing anymore, but kept running.

They continued to run for a minute. Sol could heard echoes throughout the city, the sounds of clashing and smashing from far back in the Dome. The structure was magnifying the noise and scattering it throughout the city ruin. He didn't care about that so much as continuing to hear the sounds of battle. He knew full well that Kliff couldn't win, especially not now. Yet so long as he heard the fighting, that meant he still lived...

At long last, the two warriors began to make their way to an empty lot. In years past, perhaps this had been vacated to build a new structure. Now it was overgrown with wild grasses and plants. However, that was all. The ground underneath had to be too developed to let any root systems make their way through. The two men continued to run until they made their way to the center. Sol was unable to see anything that stood out as he made his way along. It wasn't until he was almost on it that he managed to catch a glimpse of something metallic poking out between clumps of grass. He also saw the area flattened out, looking like someone had been there recently.

As soon as he was to the metallic device, Ky immediately dove for the ground and practically rolled into a sitting position. He moved his hands over the device and began to adjust things, in particular an antenna. Seeing this, Sol stopped as well and realized what it was. It was a receiver of some sort.

"Don't try anything underhanded." Ky announced as his eyes focused on it.

Sol merely crossed his arms and waited.

"Don't spend too long on that." He answered. "I talked to Kliff before now. He said that Testament had the fighters that lost imprisoned."

Ky hesitated at that, and then gave a frown as he kept working.

"Damned fools…if they would have just listened to the IPF and stayed off this island…"

As he was murmuring this, the receiver suddenly whined. A moment later, and he spoke into it.

"White knight to white king. Urgent. Over."

There was a few moments of static, but then Sol heard a response.

_"This is White King. What is the situation? Over."_

Ky swallowed once and stiffened. "…Worst case scenario. Blitzkrieg. Requesting advisement for next move. Over."

There was a long pause on the other end. Sol listened to this but kept his arms crossed. No doubt…the IPF had considered the chance that the original message was serious about Justice returning. They probably didn't believe it was possible until now, but now they were probably going into a tizzy over it. What Sol didn't like, however, was what Ky was doing. Was this the reason he had led them all the way over here? Just to ask the IPF for what to do next?

_Damnit, Ky…can you even go to the bathroom by yourself anymore?_

_"…Understood, white knight. Give us hostile's coordinates, over."_

Sol nearly opened his mouth to stop Ky, but it was too late.

"36.802 by 122.073, over."

_"Acknowledged. Evacuate the area immediately. You have thirty minutes. Allow two mile minimum distance from target area, over."_

Sol turned his head to Ky, a bit sharply. However, part of his sudden change was unfounded. A bit to his surprise, Ky actually looked confused at this.

"…White King…my recommendation in this contingency was that ten IPF members who were former knights be deployed immediately to this location to deploy another seal…"

_"Not this time, white knight."_ The voice immediately cut off, not waiting for over. _"To be frank…we're making sure we get this bastard this time. The IPF has refurbished one of the Gear warheads used in the Crusades. We're going to strike your area with it. It should have enough power to destroy the hostile and ensure no escape of him or any technology. Now get clear, over."_

Sol tightened his arms and watched Ky. He was interested in seeing what he would do now.

Ky blinked once, but then continued. "White King…the hostile has hostages. I have information that fighters who had lost in the false tournament are being held prisoner…"

_"We can't afford to let the target get away by giving too much time. They're in violation of Intercontinental IPF Law, and their lives are now forfeit according to non-tresspassing regulation C, white knight. You are ordered to get clear, over."_

Ky's face turned a bit more anxious. "Sir…Kliff Undersn is currently on the island. He's fighting to-"

_"White knight…" _The voice sharply cut off. _"I don't care if Mother Theresa is on that island and she's got her arms full with sick, crippled orphans. The law clearly states: No Unauthorized Persons On IPF Investigation Sites Under Penalty Of Imprisonment. Any Person On Said Investigation Site Is No Longer Elligible For IPF Protection. And killing that bastard would, quite frankly, be worth the lives of a few civilians. The launch has already been authorized. Now get clear. That's an order. Over."_

Ky hesitated. His face began to look nervous. Sol began to see sweat form. The knight turned and looked up to him. Sol kept his arms crossed and stared back. Even if Ky did value his opinion, he wasn't going to give it to him. This was his decision. Not his. Ky clutched his fist uneasily and moistened his lips, but then turned back to the radio.

"…White King…requesting that the order be belayed for an additional thirty minutes to allow time to locate and escort prisoners to safety. Over."

_"Request denied. I gave you an order, captain. Disobey it and you will be taking your life and your career into your own hands. That's grounds for treason."_

"…Just thirty more minutes, sir…"

_"Captain, are you having trouble understanding my transmission? Get off the island right now! That's a direct order!"_

Ky's fist tightened. His face began to strain. "Sir, it's not right!"

_"For the love of… Cut the sanctimonious, chivalrous bullst, captain! You're not a monk or a priest anymore! You're a police officer and you will do as you are commanded! Do you he-"_

_Krish! Fizzle…_

Ky's head snapped up in surprise and looked to Sol. The man glared coldly back at him…but kept his body in the position it had suddenly adjusted into. Ky gaped back, and slowly turned his head down to his receiver. It was no longer that device anymore, however, but a crumpled piece of metal with the end of the Fireseal protruding from it.

Sol kept his eyes narrowed, but then drew his sword back, stood up, and returned it to his side.

"That conversation was going nowhere." Sol simply explained.

Ky began to open his mouth to protest, but the man cut him off.

"It's decision time, Ky. What's more important to you? Are you going to be a knight or a pawn?"

The knight stopped himself. His eyes flooded with a flash of anger. For a moment…Sol thought he might be buried by some tirade about how he wasn't one to criticize, and that they'd be back where they started. He hoped not, because he really didn't have time for this now. However…Ky stayed silent. He looked on at him a bit longer, and as he did his anger began to fade. His gaze turned more faraway, and he seemed to be considering something else. If that was the case, then Sol felt relief. It was about time that he started looking past what he could see in front of him.

At last, Ky did make a decision.

His face turned cold and stern again. His eyes narrowed, and he calmly drew his feet underneath him and pushed up. Soon he rose to full height.

"…This changes nothing between us, Sol." Ky stated coldly. "You and I just seem to have a common cause, and I care more about stopping Justice than you."

"Fine." Sol simply answered, not having time for this. "Then if you want to save those prisoners, I suggest you get moving while you still can."

"If it's the airstrike you're worried about, don't be." Ky responded. He raised one hand, reached into his robes, and then came out with a small device. Sol looked at it, but didn't get that much of a good view. It fit into Ky's palm, and wasn't easy to see. He could make out some sort of locking switch on top of the device, however, that seemed to be thumb operated. Ky moved his finger to disengage the safety.

"The IPF realizes that it's foolish to send in an airstrike and leave a window of time open during which the situation might change, yet the strike can't be recalled. All field members who go into possible hot zones, such as myself, carry one of these. I need only push it at any time and I can abort the strike. I suppose I had better…" With that, and something of a wistful look, Ky turned his gaze down and to the device. He seemed somewhat regretful. However, once there, he paused a moment.

"…Don't think blind obedience alone would make me hesitate to disobey an order, Sol." He said after a moment, sounding like he was trying to justify himself. "I realize what's at stake here. Justice cannot be allowed to escape this island. Personally…I think thirty minutes is far too long. He could be anywhere on England in that time. But if I have to choose between the lives of others and the lives of a filthy, souless murderer…" He began to raise his thumb to press down.

"Wait."

Ky stopped and turned back to Sol.

"How long do you think it will take to find those others?"

Ky frowned in response. "I asked for thirty more minutes arbitrarily. It would take me even longer going around to sense them, and that's assuming…" Suddenly, the knight trailed off. His eyes widened.

"What?" Sol asked.

"Alone I can't do much." Ky answered. "But I have my transponder. So long as they're being held in the vicinity, I should be able to find them."

"Is it possible to get them out and still have the air strike?"

Ky looked to Sol a bit more intently at that. However, there was already something new going on between them. Sol's tone had changed. He wasn't talking as a civilian, a warrior, or a foe anymore. Now he was starting to talk as he had in the old days, back when he and Ky talked with each other about plans and actions. There was almost a wave of nostalgia of the old Sacred Order between them. Ky perceived it…and, either consciously or subconsciously, began to enforce it.

"…The air strike will hit initially in thirty minutes." Ky answered. "If they were to abort at the time of the strike, they would likely return to base or prepare for another hit. The latter option is unlikely. This control is to abort, not to stall. They'd probably return to base."

"Can IPF command override your abort signal?"

"Possibly." Ky answered. "But I don't think so, so long as I did it at the right time. They'd need a few minutes to trace the signal and knock it out if it was possible."

"Alright then." Sol concluded, his voice getting sharper and firmer. "Then here's what we need to do. I need you to go out and find those people and get them out of here."

Ky's eyes finally narrowed again. "…And what will you do?"

"I'm going to return to the stadium." Sol answered.

Ky began to frown. "I'm not doing that this time, Sol. You couldn't beat Justice. I'm ready to try. And I'm definitely not letting you out of my sight again after I spent six years trying to find you."

Sol stared simply back. He crossed his arms again and glared harder, actually unsettling Ky a bit.

"…Unless you want to die with me, then don't go to the stadium."

Ky's eyes widened at this.

"…What did you say?"

"I'm saying that if I can't defeat Justice, you must allow the airstrike to happen." Sol responded. "But I'm not playing to win. I'm playing to stall. So long as Justice is destroying me, he won't focus on the fact that he's staying in place for too long. And you and I both know that Justice never made a habit of staying in one spot too long. That's why we could never get him. Besides…I'm not going to leave Kliff to die. If you still hear fighting from the stadium at the time the ships arrive, don't abort. Let them blow the stadium up."

Ky's eyes narrowed again, and he stepped forward. "Kliff means more to me than he could ever to you. And if I let you go again, I won't see you again for another six years if not longer. I'm not giving you a chance to get away, especially when you getting out of this deal means that Justice will be free. I swore I'd never trust you again, Sol. Now you want me to place the fate of countless lives on your word that you're willing to die in order to stop Justice?"

Sol didn't shift or change.

"…You may call me a thief, a rogue, a liar, and a traitor, Ky…but you know better than anyone that I was never a coward when it came to stopping a Gear or saving lives. I don't know if you've made up countless excuses as to how I managed to deceive you or something, but saving people was always the highest priority in my life. Do you really think that Kliff would have let me in the Sacred Order if it wasn't? Do you think he was that blind?"

Ky opened his mouth a moment…but then shut it again. He had no good answer for that.

"You already chose between Justice and innocent lives today. That shows me you're willing to put off your acts of retribution and judgment long enough to save those in danger. If that's the case…then I'm asking you to do it again. You might be right to suspect me about several things…but the one thing I promise and assure you is that the only way I'll back down from Justice will be if he throws my dead body out of that stadium. I have no transponder or a failsafe switch. I can't do what you can do. I need you to save those people and let me handle this. I need you to forget about what's happened between us for just thirty minutes so that we can both do what needs to be done. Please."

Ky didn't answer. However…much of his anger melted away as he heard this. He still was retaining some, but his face grew more and more uncomfortable with time. He stared on at Sol hesitantly, listening to what he said and running it over and over again in his brain. Sol stared back simply, waiting for him to make his answer, and hoping that he would choose the right one this time. Precious seconds ticked by as the two men stared silently.

Ky slowly exhaled, and finally narrowed his gaze again on Sol.

* * *

Kliff, his clothing mostly in shreds and his body lacerated in several places, raised his blade, gave a cry, and swung it madly around in circles. Justice, in the middle of a charge, was forced to halt and hold up a gauntlet to intercept the first swinging hit, and then quickly backed up as Kliff advanced and threatened to cut at him anyway. For a brief moment, Kliff held him back. 

Then, however, the Command Gear gave some sort of a hiss…and darted forward right into the midst of the swinging. He raised one gauntlet and quickly stopped the swinging sword, and then dove forward and drove his fist deep into Kliff's side. The ribs were already broken inside there…and so the fragments broke further and drove into his organs. Kliff gave out a gagging cry, accompanied with a wad of blood, before he was thrown away from Justice yet again. He wasn't able to spring back to life so quickly this time. He landed, and then skimmed along it from the power, continuing to tumble over the rocky ground.

When he hit again, however, he gave a very loud and strained grunt. With a surge of power that seemed incapable of being generated at this point, he flipped himself up and onto his feet. Immediately after doing so…his face winced from obvious internal injuries. He barely managed to keep himself from removing his hand from his sword and grabbing his chest. His eyes closed a moment, and he wavered slightly. The end of Dragonslayer drooped. However, in the end, he slammed his hand back onto his sword, raised his weapon, and opened his eyes again.

Although it was a surprise…he kept his face normal and his expression tight and angry when he saw that Justice was already standing in front of him, arms crossed, glaring down with only a few bits of dust on his unmarred armor.

_"Just like all stubborn humans…you refuse to believe when it's your time to die."_ Justice snorted. _"You're nothing to me anymore, Kliff. I might even spare you if it wasn't for the fact that you caused me so much humiliation. You forced your foolish hope onto your species and caused countless injuries for me and mine. But if you beg…I might just let you live long enough to see me begin my new war against humanity…assuming you can even live that much longer."_

Kliff grit his teeth harder in response, letting blood seethe between his gums. His body was in agony now. Every move drove sharp, stabbing pains into his chest and stomach. Sweat and blood was running into his eyes. Bruises and bumps were swelling from within all his injuries. And yet…he still refused to quit.

"Hiyaaah!"

Forcing as much power as he could into the act, Kliff tightened his grip on his blade and lunged straight for Justice one final time. The blade was pointed straight for his heart, and the old man put everything he could into it.

Once again, Justice's palms were extended and slammed on the blade. Yet this time…the helmet gave just the slightest inclination of surprise. The tip was only a scant millimeter from his torso armor by the time that the Command Gear caught it. Not staying in midair this time, Kliff planted his feet on the ground and pushed in as hard as he could. Sweat doubled in its flow from his brow, his eyes burned, and he gave out a tremendous grunt as he stabbed with everything he had.

Justice was superior to the greatest men in terms of physical skill in every way. And yet…somehow Kliff was putting a strain on him. This time, Kliff wasn't the only one straining and quivering while pushing. After only a moment…Justice's hands began to tremble as well. His arms soon followed up with it. Slowly…his feet began to dig into the ground too as he held back against Kliff's blade. Though its face was completely stoic behind its mask…somewhere beneath that metal a humanoid visage lost its confident look and turned to one of surprise. Slowly…the teeth beneath the mouthpiece began to tighten as the palms pushed harder. Justice tried to hide it. He tried to make it look as if it was nothing. But as Kliff pushed harder and harder, with strength his body hadn't put out even when he was younger…Justice began to slowly feel arm muscles burning. The palms began to slowly ache as he pushed as hard as he could.

The two ancient enemies continued to clash. Justice's feet continued to grind…and, in the smallest way, grain by grain…the power actually began to push him back ever so slightly. Justice's eyes truly widened then. Kliff didn't change. As sweat fell from him like buckets, and the blood of his wounds appeared to actually be squeezed out…he continued to push like a man possessed. Justice couldn't believe it. The old man was weakening. Wearing out. Too old to fight. And yet…he was putting forth more power than he had in any of their previous battles for this final clash. Even after how much he had been beaten…he was still coming. And though Justice continued to exert more and more power…the blade very, very slowly began to push through his grip. Justice slowly became conscious of a grunting noise coming through his mouthpiece as he watched the tip slowly close the distance and rest right over his heart. He continued to strain and struggle…and yet he watched as the tip began to slowly press a tiny dent into the breast armor…and slowly watched it begin to deepen…

Seeing this…Justice had taken enough. Unseen by Kliff, the being beneath that armor slowly began to twist its expression into one of rage and hate. The Command Gear would not stand for humiliation. Not in the least. Kliff had humiliated him for the better part of four decades. And now he was humiliating him again…old, aged, decrepit…and yet actually leaving a mark in his armor…

_"WAAAAH!"_

Giving a mixture of a hiss and a roar, Justice's tail flashed out and lashed around Kliff's blade. Immediately, it tightened into a crushing grasp, locking on the edges and holding it as firm as the tightest vice. Kliff's anger abated for a brief moment as he watched this happen, his eyes beginning to fill with confusion. However, while still giving his hissing cry…Justice held the blade with one hand and snapped his arms to the side as hard as he could, putting forth his full inhuman force into it.

Dragonslayer held for a brief moment…

…Then, after decades of battling, cutting through the strongest flesh and the mightiest steel…the blade snapped in two.

It was as if something had broken Kliff as well. Immediately…his strength vanished. His anger disappeared. His face was still red and sweating, but his look became open and blank as he saw it. Time seemed to slow down as he ceased putting any force or power in holding his blade. He watched as the end of Dragonslayer seemed to slowly pull its tiny tip from Justice's chest, and then slowly fall to the ground. It seemed as if all reality stopped as he watched the blade slowly collapse, flipping over itself in midair, before it came to the stone ground at the feet of Justice. There…he watched as it touched down lightly.

Then…he was on him.

Kliff was barely able to register the pain and blows…but now Justice's full anger had been aroused. He could barely remember it. He didn't even register the first two hits, as Justice shot forward and slammed his fist into Kliff's skull, bashing it one way and then the other. He felt his jaw unhinge on one side as four teeth flew from his mouth. He already felt limp and lifeless, but now there was no power at all in him. All of his senses were destroyed as he began to collapse. Yet he never fell even a fraction of an inch. Justice shot out his talons and embedded them in the outer flesh of his chest, hooking him on each nail. Blood began to flow from him, but most importantly he was held in place. That way, he couldn't fall as Justice formed another fist and drove it into his chest. The rest of his ribs were obliterated in the blows that followed, and one of his lungs smashed in. Blood fountained from his lips.

Justice released, but again, before he could fall, he struck again. His leg raised and flashed out. One after another, kicks alternated between his head and his stomach. Kliff couldn't even feel anything breaking now. He just knew that things were being crushed and destroyed within him. His senses were still gone, and he couldn't remember being hit more than once although he felt pain both in his head and stomach. However, Justice hit him at least eight times, trying to crush whatever was left. Although Kliff's face was bashed, it somehow held its shape as Justice broke the skull in several places. It was all in the facial region. The cerebral region was mercifully spared…likely left alone so that Kliff could feel the pain. Finally…the tail came and ripped him out of the air, flinging him across the entire stadium before smashing his body into the ground. Once there, blood trailed behind as the debris raked his back, and he let it as it brought him to a halt. He came to a stop at last on his back. He did not spring up this time.

Kliff lay limp after taking the beating. His blood slowly flowed out of various sources on his body, until he was lying in a red pool. All strength was now gone. There wasn't the power left to move anything. Somehow he was still breathing…but even that was agonizing and laboring. His body was broken now. Even if it wasn't, he had given up everything he had left in that stab. He hadn't even had power to hold on to half of Dragonslayer. It lay in a haphazard angle where the first half was. His fingers were weak. He couldn't clench them. He had never felt so beaten and helpless. He couldn't feel anything in his body. He thought he was lifeless…and yet, somehow, he was still aware of what was going on.

He could feel pain, but all of it was distant and hazy…as if someone had filled him with sedatives of some sort. He began to wonder if he was dead. Perhaps his soul was just looking out from within his body. However…he began to realize he wasn't. He faintly felt the breeze. He could feel blood still leaking from him. No…he was alive. But his body had taken too much pain and trauma. Too much even for the great Kliff Undersn. And like a man struggling to build a sandcastle in the middle of an incoming high tide, which progressively takes away more and more that is rebuilt until it's a losing battle…his body had just given up sending alarm signals and waited for the inevitable.

He heard metal boots clicking. He knew what it was. His eyes were half-open, and his face was rapidly swelling to become undiscernable. He couldn't move his neck or head. However…he knew what was happening. And he knew what he was seeing when a white and blue form began to hulk over him again.

No rapid movements this time. Justice took his leisure in walking up to and over Kliff's body. Once there…he stared down and flexed his own strength. He let his full size sweep over him. He kept his hands and arms taught to his sides. His tail began to casually flicker again behind him. There he was, the picture of power. The only sign that he had gotten into any trouble was the smallest hint of a nick in the center of his chest. The emotionless visor gazed down on its fallen foe.

_"…I've often dreamed of this moment."_ Justice spoke aloud. _"This isn't what I had in mind. I wanted to have hundreds of your followers surrounding me. I wanted to see them gape in terror and fear at what I had done to their beloved leader. I wanted to be surrounded by flames and carnage, and I alone stand out above and beyond it all. I wanted to drink in the fear and despair of your people, and show them all that this is the inevitable fate of all who oppose me. You…broken, dying, helpless, and waiting for the reaper to deal the final stroke. However…I enjoy this just the same. I remember each and every blow and move of each and every one of our sixteen…excuse me, seventeen battles. There wasn't a night that went by that I didn't dream of how much I had done to you, hoping to see you as you are now…only to have you escape, to be a thorn in my side again and again…_

_"But now I see that there is a change. Now I perceive a new epoch. Just as the death of my fellow Gears that day on this very island precluded the age in which I rose to power, this death will preclude the end of the human race. My course is more clear to me now than ever. You shall be my greatest trophy, Kliff Undersn. I shall stake you on a banner and wave you before every single country, every single army, and every single human that opposes me. That they may know that while their governments, their weapons…their magic seals…come and go, I am eternal and unbeatable."_

The metal tail became rigid. It seemed to stiffen, almost appearing to make a sharper spike on the end of it. Slowly, it rose up from where it was resting and came into the air, before twisting around and positioning itself right over Kliff's chest. Kliff at last was able to move his eyes here. He recovered enough strength to look down and watch. Slowly…his tongue moved behind his lips. They shifted slightly…but then stopped. He wanted to say something, but he was too weak to do so now. And Justice didn't care. That stoic suit stayed in perfect form, having only moved its tail to end the life of its greatest enemy.

Then…moving as a flash…his right arm extended straight out to his right side.

Despite how weak he was…Kliff couldn't help but have his eyelids just barely widen. As he struggled to breathe…his eyes slowly turned over to the side.

Justice had extended his arm straight out and formed a single talon.

It now rested right on Sol Badguy's bandanna.

The man looked primed for battle. His muscles were tight and his demeanor grim and determined. His body was frozen on the ground in the position of a lunge. His arms had braced the Fireseal and had it straight out. He had been coming straight for Justice, his sword leveled and ready to let his body's power put it through him. However…Justice had responded by extending one arm and the talon. Sol had come to a stop in the middle of his charge right before his continued path would have driven Justice's talon through his skull.

The two stood like statues, unmoving and silent.

At last, Justice's mask rotated and aimed at Sol.

_"Not very wise, Frederick."_ It calmly stated. _"I'd have thought you'd have fled for your life, no doubt remembering the pain I can, and _will_, give you."_

* * *

_To be continued..._

NEXT CHAPTER: Father and Mother...


	25. Father and Mother

**"Father and Mother"**

* * *

Axl heard an abrupt shift behind him and the sound of touching. 

"Eek!" A sharp voice rang.

The voice was so loud and sudden that everyone in the ground snapped around and stared out into the blackness, expecting some new horror to come forth and attack. Axl himself drew his sickles out…and in the pitch blackness the faintest lines of a red glow began to light up the scythes. Unfortunately, it wasn't nearly enough to provide decent illumination. At any rate, all of them froze momentarily and waited for something more.

A sigh was heard in the blackness.

"Sorry." May's voice went out. "I forgot we were clear when I brushed against the wall."

Axl rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh. He wasn't alone in the group.

"It's a good thing I can't see you, girl…" Millia's annoyed voice rang out. "Are we almost out?"

"It should be just up ahead." Chipp's voice returned. "Come on."

Axl groaned, and then turned and followed after Chipp once again. He was beginning to grow a little tired of being in this pitch black labyrinth. Like May had said, they were finally clear of the roots. Chipp couldn't hear them anymore as they went along. Nevertheless, they stayed tied together so that no one could get lost. And Axl wouldn't feel for certain that he was clear of strange devices and dangers until he was out of there. It was likely he wouldn't truly feel safe until he was off this godforsaken island that had long since ceased to be home. For now, however, he just wanted to be out of this damn shaft.

Two more minutes passed as the troop walked onward. They had stopped weaving one way and another now. It seemed as if they were finally back into straight corridors. Maybe this was a real sewer or subway. However…Chipp was also slowing down. It could have been for any one of a number of reasons…but Axl hoped that it wasn't the reason he dreaded…that he was beginning to forget where he was. He did keep walking along without pausing as they continued, although he did slow down considerably at some points. And he didn't lead them back the way they came at any point.

At last, Axl felt the ninja halt in front of him. He nearly ran into him due to his abrupt stopping, but the Brit was able to halt just before impact. May, however, ran right into him with such force that he nearly stepped up and crashed into Chipp anyway. He frowned a bit at this, but said nothing else and didn't bother looking. He couldn't see her or show disapproval anyway. He heard Millia and Potemkin stop soon afterward.

"Why did we stop?" The woman immediately asked.

There was a pause of silence in front of Axl.

"…I think we're here." Chipp answered a moment later.

Axl didn't like the fact that he was somewhat hesitant in saying that.

"Um…there's nothing here." May spoke up.

"It would be over our heads. He lowered me down…" Again, Chipp was hesitant.

"…Are you sure?" Millia asked in a rather sharp voice.

No answer. A moment later, and Axl felt the hairs along his wrist shift, as if further down the line they were doing something.

"Ow!" Chipp yelped.

"Answer me."

"I think!" Chipp yelled in reply, growing irritable. "For God's sake, I was practically unconscious!"

A sigh responded. "Fine. Number two in the line…can you make any light?"

"The name is Axl." The Brit answered grumpily.

"Can you do it or not?"

The man frowned in response and sighed. "…Ain't no way I'm losin' this shirt. Might be the only shirt left in this damn time period with a Union Jack on it…" With that in mind, Axl began to go for his pant legs instead. With something of a grumble, he manipulated his scythe over it and cut a bit, so that he was able to yank off the rest of one leg with a tug. Still sighing, he held it in front of him and focused his power on it. It took a moment, but eventually a flame began to ignite.

There wasn't much time, and just holding a burning strip of cloth didn't make for much of a torch. And so, the man immediately held it up as best as he could and waved it around the vicinity.

It was fairly wide open here, and Axl was glad to see that everything around him seemed to be part of an empty storm sewer. It meant that they were indeed clear of whatever Testament's "evil lab" was doing… However, that was where the good news ended. Axl could see just in front of Chipp, and noticed that one of the reasons he had been forced to halt was that the corridor ended. All that was in front of them now was a wall with a tiny drain underneath. They had a somewhat high ceiling above them…but there was no sign of any ladder. It stretched up about twenty feet before terminating against metal. There were no entrances.

Axl shook the fabric once as it got near his fingertips, and let it fall to the ground. It smoldered out and vanished a moment later. As a result, no one was able to see Millia look down and glare at Chipp.

"…I think your skills are a bit lacking."

"Hey, if you don't like it, then by all means go back the way we came, back into that corridor full of those damn vines, and find your own way out." Chipp snapped back. "I didn't have to wait up for the rest of you!"

"Let's all just calm down a bit." Axl spoke up with a sigh. "Arguing ain't gonna help anything. We can start working our way back until we find a ladder that leads up to some manhole. Or we can get our big bloke chum from Zepplin or whatever to pound a way…"

A moment later, and Axl cut himself off as he and the others drew back in sudden pain. The fire light had been gentle and monochrome, and so they had managed to adjust well enough to that. However…a much brighter, whiter, and blinding light suddenly burst forth from above. The people below immediately shielded themselves and winced in response. A sizzling sound began to burn overhead along with the light, sounding like some sort of electricity. Axl held back until his pupils had shrank a bit more before he was finally able to look above and toward the source.

What he saw was blinding and forced him to look away rather quickly…but he was puzzled by what he managed to glimpse. It almost looked like some sort of blade gleaming with electricity. He was forced to look away now…and soon after he began to pull back further as well. White, molten fragments seemed to be dripping from the ceiling. The electric blade was so hot that it appeared to be melting it. The others saw this and quickly moved to the sides. Based on seeing it, Axl realized that whoever had that device, or whatever had it, was cutting through the ceiling with it.

Axl managed to weakly look out and to Chipp, who was also shielding himself and holding back. "I don't suppose that's something standard in this century, is it?"

Chipp looked to him with confusion at that, and Axl moaned inwardly. He had never actually told them that he was from the past. It didn't really seem to be a priority message, after all. And it would only confuse things more than they needed to be. However, as he thought about it longer, the blade's sizzling suddenly cut off. A moment later, and all five jumped as a piece of metal fell down twenty feet and slammed loudly right in their midst. Axl himself almost yelped as he recoiled, and turned his eyes to what had come down.

The first thing he noticed was that he was able to see it in the first place. Light was now coming from overhead. It was dim, but it provided enough illumination to easily look around oneself. The piece of the metal itself was surrounded with a gleaming edge, which was rapidly cooling. It didn't take much for Axl to realize this was where the blade had come through. At any rate, the metal was simple looking and seemed to have a layer of concrete on top of it. It was also cut in a vague circle.

Axl knew it was rather unlikely…but based on what he had just seen, he began to wonder none the less. Was someone trying to save them?

The Brit stepped forward, moving into the light, and looked to the ceiling. The others soon began to follow behind. Their own bodies were slowly illuminated as they looked up and out. Far overhead, some sort of blue glow from a distance was somehow seeping in through the circle shape in the ceiling. The sky was dark now. It was night, and a cloudy one at that. They could see the source of the blue glow was illuminating some of the lower clouds, but other than that they could see nothing. A cool wind was blowing down into the sewer. Far in the distance…Axl thought he could heard some sort of clashing or ringing sound…

As Axl tried to place its identity…someone suddenly popped his head over the edge and looked down. He and the others instinctively drew back a bit, but then came to a halt and looked up. Normally, he would have been overshadowed by the dim light beyond him and impossible to see. However, they had been in the darkness for some time, and their eyes had adjusted quite a bit to pick up dark shapes. As a result, Axl and the others were able to look up and see who it was.

It appeared to be a young blond man, even younger than Axl. He was wearing some sort of white and blue uniform. It was hastily mended in places, and there was dried blood on its collar as well as his face. However, he could see little in the way of fresh wounds. A few older ones were there, but nothing severe.

He didn't appear to be the most friendly type. His look was dark and serious, far too much for someone his age, it seemed. Yet before he could say anything else, he heard something distract him from his thoughts.

"Terrific. An IPF officer."

Axl turned his head around in confusion to the sound of that. He soon found himself looking at Millia. She had suddenly turned irritable, it appeared. Her teeth were grit and her arms were crossed, and she looked up to the man with considerable annoyance. Axl crooked his eyebrow at that. He didn't quite understand her reaction. What was IPF? To tell the truth, he didn't know. He had been struggling to catch up on past history until now, and he couldn't keep a bead on every new anagram that entered his mind. He just had the basic assumption that any three letter group was bad. That usually turned out to be a good bet.

Millia, however, wasn't the only one who was changing. Axl also noticed that Chipp was starting to sweat a bit, and look rather uncomfortable. May's face was beginning to tighten as she grasped her anchor handle. The big one also seemed to clench his fists. It looked like they were all spoiling for a fight. If so, then Axl was even more uncomfortable. Right now, he didn't care for any more brawls.

The two sides were silent for a while, much longer than Axl thought was necessary, which only heightened his unease. Eventually, the one overhead broke the silence. He seemed very reluctant, however. He was looking over them all, in particular Millia and May, and seemed to be regretting something. Yet in the end, it seemed as if he swallowed it down and spoke.

"…Is anyone down there injured?"

That was some relief to Axl. It seemed as if he was there to help at least. Yet before he could relax fully, he heard Millia retort in a cold snap.

"No, we're fine. Everything's fine down here. We're having the time of our lives. So why don't you go back and assist your superiors in your police business?"

This made the man overhead stiffen, it seemed. A wave of anger almost seemed to go through him.

Axl couldn't believe the woman. He didn't care if she was crazy and had helped them out. She wasn't going to blow this. Immediately, he stepped forward and let out a nervous laugh. "Uh…heh heh. She's just kidding. Little joke she's been working on." He answered, gesturing back to her and seeming to wave his hands in a way to indicate, "ignore her". "Um…officer…do you have any rope or something you can use to pull us out of here?"

The man once again hesitated. Yet again, he seemed reluctant, but he managed a nod. "…Yes. Hold on." His head vanished again.

Immediately, Axl snapped around and looked to the others. "What the hell is the matter with you guys? You want to get stuck down…"

The Brit soon trailed off. As he turned and began to talk to them…he noticed something. Millia was looking cold and standoffish. Both Chipp and Millia were seeming nervous. The giant seemed unusually cold and grim. On seeing all of this…he realized that something was wrong. Something he had missed big time.

"You must not have that good of a memory." Millia answered back…although her voice was quieter and not nearly as biting this time. "I told you before that I was an assassin. And last I looked, killing anyone for a livelihood and not being a member of the army is against the law. And I'm more than famous enough to have my picture on a few wanted posters that an International Police Force officer can pick up."

Axl paused here, and then suddenly raised his eyebrows in a knowing look. "Oh…ah…that's what it meant…"

"I've been busy myself." Chipp threw in. "I'm not a murderer. I'm exacting retribution for the death of my sensei and ridding St. Louis of a few scumbags. Yet I don't think the police will see the difference."

May stuck out a thumb toward herself. "May of the Jellyfish Air Pirates. 'Nuff said."

"And as for our large friend back here," Millia indicated behind her. "Zepp is an aggressive military country. They see someone like him and he'll be thrown in jail for interrogation to find out what Zepp wanted. And since he's a slave soldier, they'll probably detonate his collar by remote before he has a chance to talk. Bottom line: none of us are too eager to get help from an IPF officer."

Axl stared on silently. Yet even as he did…a rustle was heard overhead. He turned his head back up, and was just in time to see what looked like some sort of old plastic tubing come down. A bit of it overhung and hit the bottom.

"That's all I can find." The officer said from overhead. "I've tied it down up here and I'm helping hold it. Hurry up. We're all in danger."

Axl looked away from overhead and around him. No one moved. Millia was the only one with dark expression. The rest of them were hesitant, but stood their ground. They were all silent and offered nothing else.

"Come on!" The officer called down again. "Move! We don't have much time here!"

Axl looked back down to the others. Still no change. They stood silently. He looked around a few times, but then looked back up to the tubing and gave a shrug.

"Well, if none of you will take advantage of my chivalry, then I'll go-"

"And what is supposed to make us think we won't be in even more danger by climbing your rope?" Millia cut off, once again ignoring Axl.

The officer overhead hesitated here, and frowned slightly. He paused a moment, but then let out a sigh.

"…Listen, I don't care what you think about me right now. The important thing is to get out of here. There's going to be an airstrike on this island soon, and it's going to destroy all life in this area to get the Gear. If you want to live, you need to get to a minimum safe distance in…" The officer paused here, and looked to his gauntlet. He seemed to have a timepiece there. "Twenty minutes."

Axl's eyebrows raised considerably there. He turned to the others and looked for their reactions. May and Chipp now began to look a bit more uncomfortable. It was likely the slave soldier from Zepp hadn't understood any of it. As for Millia, however, she stood her ground.

"Again…why should I think I'd be in any less danger from climbing your rope?" She asked. "I'm not childish enough to think that you would make up a lie to lure us out like this, but I'm not stupid enough to think that you haven't recognized me. You've probably recognized most of us. You IPF types are very good at recognizing the most wanted. You're also very good at increasing your reputation by taking out the worst on the lists. And from my experiences, it wouldn't matter if it was Ragnarok right now. You still wouldn't be able to pass up the chance of nailing at least two major criminals. Especially you, Captain Ky Kiske."

May's eyebrows raised even higher there. Chipp snapped around to Millia as well. Even the giant seemed to react to the name. Once again, Axl found himself left in the dark. If he had read that name, then he forgot it by now. He was forced to sigh and take a back seat yet again. As for the officer, he showed no change and continued to stare down.

"Whoa, wait a minute…that's Ky Kiske?" May asked aloud. "As in…the Ky Kiske who ended the war?" A pause. "…I always thought he was older…"

"There can't be two people with blades like that." Millia answered, still looking to the officer. "I know you never let a criminal go. So what's to guarantee that you simply won't run us through the back once we get up there?"

The man, who Axl assumed was indeed this Ky, sighed again in response, and rolled his eyes.

"Alright…you're right about some things. If this was any other day and any other circumstance, I might indeed arrest you all as soon as you were out of there." He admitted, his tone growing in annoyance. "Yet this isn't. Currently, the greatest threat the world has ever known is wrecking havoc. He's killing the only true target I want to bring in alive, as well as the man who was my greatest mentor. Stopping him is my greatest priority, and ensuring he doesn't escape the air strike blast. I'm also determined to make sure that no innocents die as a result of the air strike. For all of your distrust and chagrin, I might actually be tempted to walk away from here. But I risked a court martial and disobeyed a direct order just so that I could find you and get you out of here, so I won't walk away now. Now…either get onto that rope and climb out of that sewer, or I'll jump down, knock you out, and then drag you out of it myself. But one way or another, I'm leading you to a minimum safe distance."

May's eyes widened a bit at this statement.

"Maybe he _is_ Ky Kiske…"

Axl looked over to Millia. The woman hesitated a bit longer. Her gaze stayed focused on Ky. However…it didn't get any worse. It seemed to grow frustrated and contemplative. A few moments went by as she seemed to battle it out mentally. They stretched on to seconds. Once it came to this point, Axl frowned. He went for his wrist, grabbed her hair, and began to yank it off.

"'K this." He grumbled. "The rest of you can stay here and get flash fried. I took you far enough already." After a moment longer, he finished yanking off the hair, and went over to the rubber tubing. A moment later, and he grabbed on and began to hoist himself up.

May and Chipp paused a second longer, and looked to each other. Then, both of them broke down and reluctantly began to move behind the Brit.

"If worse comes to worse, I think we can take him..." May said with a shrug.

This seemed to break Millia. She frowned a bit more, let out a scowl, but then sighed and stepped forward to grab the tubing. As a result, the slave soldier let out an uneasy sound, but then stepped forward as well. If the rest were leaving, so was he.

"Fine…" Milla grumbled in surrender. "Anything that gets me off this island quicker is a blessing."

* * *

Sol stared back at Justice, looking unaffected by the talon positioned over his brow. However, he cracked a small smile in the end. 

"Kliff told me he wanted to die at the hand of a great warrior. Naturally, I couldn't let _you_ kill him."

Justice didn't answer. He stared on at the man for a moment longer.

Then, in a flash, Sol leapt back two feet. Justice himself appeared to dematerialize and reappear right in front of him. However, unlike Sol, who quickly shifted back into position and braced himself again, Justice was crouched and moving a hand with talons outstretched down in front of him, moving to slice open his target. But on seeing Sol had left…he stopped before it ever reached there. Once he did that, he calmly rose to his feet again. The talons closed into a fist and went to his side.

_"Still playing the overconfident fool, Frederick? You know how well _that_ served you last time…"_

Sol's eyes were narrowed for a moment…but then suddenly widened. Quickly, he darted back again, as Justice seemed to instantly appear right next to his head. An armored elbow shot out and smashed into the air where Sol's head had been. The man abruptly flipped backward a moment later, as Justice once again disappeared and reappeared right in front of him. He crouched as his talons shot out and cut a rift into the ground, again hitting only air instead of Sol. The helmet looked up, and the eyes beneath it narrowed. A moment later, and Sol was rapidly backflipping as fast as he could. Staying on his heels…or rather continuously appearing where he had been…was Justice. Each time, a hand, foot, or tail slammed down against the concrete over his last position.

At last, a particular point came in which Sol leapt back, and Justice once again appeared and swung his foot out for his head. However…Sol hadn't fully moved back this time. Instead, he dropped down backward and landed on one hand. A moment later, and he grit his teeth and swung himself around, aiming a sweep kick for Justice's legs. The Command Gear saw this coming, and quickly leapt into the air to avoid it. Now seeing Justice occupied, Sol quickly swung his legs around further, put them underneath him, and quickly lunged forward with his sword in a stabbing motion. Unfortunately, the Gear was still too fast. Justice managed to land back on his feet and swing out an arm to deflect the stab before it could land.

Sol quickly swerved his head to one side to miss Justice's next blow. Before the Gear could follow up, he quickly advanced with two slashing strikes. He powered up the Fireseal to maximum as he did so…but, unfortunately, much as it had last time they fought…Justice's gauntlets still protected against each strike. He had to sidestep a moment later to avoid an uppercut powerful enough to unhinge his jaw, and then perform another backflip as Justice followed that up with another backhand. The Gear turned his head to him afterward, and immediately leapt and lunged at Sol, raising a hand and outstretching talons once again. Sol had barely managed to land from the first backflip before his eyes widened, and he quickly did so again to avoid the slash impaling him.

As Justice landed, Sol quickly tightened his grip and rushed forward to give him a slash. Again, no such luck. The Gear raised an arm and blocked against the blow…and then lashed out much as Sol had in a tripping kick for his legs. Sol was forced to leap up as soon as the clash was blocked. Yet even this was planned. Justice lashed out with his tail almost the moment that Sol was in midair. The appendage spiked and headed straight for his chest. Sol's eyes widened again as he saw this, and knew he was powerless to dodge. As a result…he did the only thing he could think of. He quickly reached out and seized the tail with one hand. Then he tightened his biceps and twisted himself around it, just missing it impaling him.

Justice seemed to sneer at this, and angrily turned to the side and thrashed his tail once. The snap was so severe that Sol nearly cried out in pain as his body was snapped along with it. His body was shaken so violently it felt like his brain was being crushed within his skull. He lost his strength, and soon he was flung off of the tail and across the battlefield.

Moments before impact, however, and Sol managed to recover. Using what appeared to be nothing short of superhuman, he appeared to somehow repel off of the air itself and flip his body around, going from a headfirst sprawl into a crouch position, aimed back at Justice. He landed a moment later, splaying himself out with both legs and one arm on the ground, while the other kept the Fireseal up and at his side, and after dragging for a moment he came to a halt.

Yet again…Sol had no time to relax. Sweat burst forth from his brow as, in the blink of an eye, Justice was on him. Letting out the smallest gasp, he turned to the side and avoided an axe kick from the Command Gear, which obliterated the fragments of pavement where he was, sending bits of rock everywhere and plunging a hole two feet deep into the ground. Again, he was forced to leap and dodge back as Justice swung around and flashed out his talons for him. The force of the wind that he cut stung him regardless, due to its sheer ferocity, but he held on. And it was a good thing too…for soon Justice was lunging at him with both talons outstretched. Gritting his teeth, putting both hands on his sword, Sol lashed out with his blade. He managed to catch one with his sword, and had enough force to deflect it to the side so that his blade could catch the other. After that, he planted his feet and held. Justice did the same, and loomed his larger size over him. The two ground against each other.

_"I've had a chance to think about you for six years, Sol."_ The Gear sneered. _"What about you? Did you think about my generous proposal from our last meeting?"_

Sol's eyes narrowed and his teeth clenched. "You mean your offer to make me your brainwashed slave? I think I'll pass."

_"You have little choice."_ Justice responded. _"My servant…or my kill."_

Seeming to almost move instantaneously, one of Justice's arms left Sol's blade. A moment later…and it drove forward for his chest. Sol barely managed to catch it, and out of instinct alone shifted his blade to his stomach. If he hadn't, he would have had his insides ruptured by the power. As it was, his arms went into agony as they were nearly sprained, and the force of impact against his sword rocked the ground and shattered the air. His own body was forced back violently. He somehow managed to stay standing, but he cut two long rifts into the ground where his boots drug. Justice immediately tightened his other hand into a fist, and then leaned back just slightly. As Sol felt his arms slowly begin to throb…he saw the Command Gear aim his tail at him and lash it out with killing force. His eyes widened yet again at the speed and ferocity of his opponent. It was more than he remembered it. He had to sidestep to avoid it. He didn't have time for a leap on this one.

Another hiss seemed to come from the Command Gear…and an instant later he vanished. Sol stiffened…but then felt cold sweat shoot down his spine. He just managed to sense the air shifting behind him. Justice had reappeared there. Quickly, Sol spun around to the side, just in time to miss being impaled by Justice's tail. The Gear scowled again, and once more disappeared. Sol didn't wait. He broke into a run…and nearly was bowled over by fist sized rocks as Justice's body came crashing down against the ground next to him, both feet out and intended for his head. A second later, and he ducked quickly to avoid Justice's tail taking his head off as he appeared at his side. After that, he was forced to grind his feet to a halt and force himself to leap back as Justice reappeared in front of him, swinging both fists down to pound an eight-foot diameter circle deeper into the ground.

Sol was growing very sweaty now, and he could feel himself breathing harder. But he flipped back none the less additional times, once more putting distance between himself and Justice. This time…the Command Gear didn't pursue. As Sol came to a halt and aimed his sword in front of him again, his opponent slowly rose to full height out of his hole again. The visor on his helmet looked to Sol, and seemed to glare angrily at him.

_"Won't come to me, Frederick?"_ He sneered. _"Then I shall send part of myself to you."_

Sol stiffened on hearing that. He knew what was coming next.

The large bulges on Justice's shoulder armor suddenly gave a hiss. A moment later…and two rectangular areas suddenly flipped up and out from the main body. There were three circular holes in each one, right on top of the other. Sol tightened his jaw and braced himself. A moment later…and each one of the holes gave a hiss. When they did, objects came flying out from them, one after the other. A line of smoke followed from each one, and each object sailed straight for Sol.

Missiles.

Bracing himself, Sol turned and began to run for it. The first of the missiles impacted where he was, and sent out a large blast of fire and debris. Some of the stone whipped up and hit Sol in the back. It also unsteadied his steps and blasted him with heat and air. But he ignored the pain and distraction and kept running. Another missile pounded the ground behind him a second later, and another along the path he was taking. Before the last three impacted, Justice fired another six. And another six after that. Soon, the Command Gear was calmly standing, while Sol was running for his life.

The parts of the arena floor that were still intact were now destroyed. As eruptions of flames and debris went up all around Sol, he was stretching his already weary body to the limit. He was running, jumping, dodging, and moving in every way possible to get away from the deadly projectiles. Each one was far more powerful than a missile of equivalent size and human construction. They were charged with magical energy, making them that much more dangerous. Sol continued to get stung and smacked with debris, but there was nothing else for it. He had to keep running. The shots were not wild. Each one was detonating on his heels, and each one threatened to knock him to the ground to make him easily prey for the follow up.

At last, the missile fire died down. Sol heard the sounds cutting off. He dodged two more missiles after this, but there was one final one still after him. Here…he suddenly stopped and wheeled around to face it. The missile, indifferent to this, continued to come up to him. The man looked at it a moment, quickly calculating the warhead angle and velocity, and where the explosive charge likely was. He only had a split second to do this…but that was all he needed. As the missile came in…he shifted to the side and sliced out with the Fireseal. A moment later, and the blade neatly cut through metal. The missile immediately fell into two parts, the engine firing cutting out, but did not detonate. When it did, Sol quickly reached out and seized the explosive part…

Right before he felt horrible, mind-numbing pain shoot through the back of his skull. Because it hit his optic region, he was blinded temporarily as his body was shoved forward face first. A moment later, and his chin was ground against the smoldering, smoking debris that littered the ground of the arena. His wound was split open again and his bones came a bit closer to fracturing. His senses rattled violently yet again.

Somehow, however, Sol shoved his arms down and pushed up. As a result, he somehow sprung his body off the ground, up into a flip, and then landed back on his feet. He quickly turned around and held his sword in front of him with one hand; putting himself at a profile and concealing his other arm. He ignored the fact that he was in one of the smoldering areas, and that his shoes were burning as well as his skin from having been exposed. He ignored the fresh blood dripping from his face too. He focused entirely behind him. There, fists back, one leg out, and strattling the ground, was Justice.

The Gear had used the missile barrage as a diversion. As soon as Sol's back was turned, he had used his incredible speed to get behind him and give him a flying kick to the back of his head.

Justice soon relaxed, and began to straighten up again.

_"Then if you won't join me, tell me something I haven't been able to figure out for these past six years." _He said as he stood to full height, and began to exert his electricity beneath him to grow higher. _"Why is it that you can resist me? I'm aware of my capabilities. Even Gears that proceed me should have been subservient to me. What keeps you from being so?"_

Sol kept his eyes narrow, but managed a small smile again.

"What's life without some mystery?"

With that, Sol snapped out of the profile and revealed his other arm. Here was something that, based on Justice's hesitation, he didn't expect.

The missile warhead was in Sol's hand…and he immediately flung it at Justice so quickly that even the Command Gear was unable to respond before the weapon struck him and immediately detonated.

Sol brought up his free arm and shielded himself as a wave of heat and wind rushed over him. The light was blinding even to one with mastery of magical flame, and he was forced to squint as Justice vanished into a fireball. He winced as the deafening eruption rang out over the landscape. However, through this all, he stood his ground. He kept his hand on his blade. As soon as he was able to, he lowered his arm and looked back into the flaming cloud. After a few seconds, it died down from being a pillar of fire to being more smoke and smoldering. He struggled to look through this, and try to see what had become of Justice…

He soon found out a second later.

A hulking, unblemished armored form lunged out of the smoke and smashed a fist into Sol's skull.

The man wasn't even able to gasp as he saw the smoke and fire seem to melt harmlessly off of Justice. The armor wasn't even scorched. And once he struck…he could focus on nothing. The blow was too powerful. It felt as if his head turned to jam and his teeth were cracking as the fist smashed into his head. The bridge of his nose fractured, and blood began to flow from his nostrils. His body went limp, and flung backward through the air, twisting into an arc…

Yet before it could go too far…Justice reached out and seized him by the headband. With a violent yank, the Command Gear drew him back, and buried his fist deep into his stomach. Although Sol was too dazzled to even be aware of this, his eyes bulged and his mouth turned into an O as blood erupted from it. As soon as the Command Gear pulled his fist out, he collapsed on all fours. Somehow he held there, but he wheezed and hacked as he struggled to get his wind back.

_"You fool."_ Justice spat. _"You think I would be stupid enough to have weapons that could be used against me?"_

The Gear immediately raised one arm and flexed it, projecting his armored elbow. In another moment, he would have driven it down on Sol's back with the intention of fracturing the spine…

Yet to Justice's surprise…Sol suddenly snapped back to life. Abruptly, his body leapt back upward and sent his own skull sailing for Justice's helmet. A moment later, and the two connected. Although the smacking sound was rather loud and painful to the ear…the armor sustained no damage. Nevertheless, the Command Gear actually staggered back a step from being hit. His arms relaxed and his palms opened, further accenting how off guard he had been caught by that maneuver.

After a moment, the Command Gear looked back down, and saw that Sol was back on his feet and brandishing the Fireseal in both hands. His face was tight again, and his eyes blazed with passion. They even looked like they had traces of redness inside their retinas…a fact that Justice didn't miss.

_"Well, well…"_ He spoke aloud. _"What have we here?"_

Sol didn't answer. Instead, he immediately advanced on Justice. He was moving even faster and more powerfully this time. The Command Gear was forced to step back twice and twist his body to avoid the first two slashes. After that, he brought up his gauntlets and deflected, first a slash for the neck, and then a slash for the legs. After deflecting the second, however, the Command Gear suddenly snapped around and leapt up, launching a flying roundhouse kick for Sol's head. The man answered by quickly, and seemingly without exhaustion, throwing himself to the ground and letting the leg go overhead. However…Justice was following up with his tail. Yet as the armored appendage sailed for Sol, the man answered by holding up his sword and blocking against it. Despite the power, he managed to hold it back. If that wasn't enough…Justice was a bit surprised to see him use the tail as a fulcrum and actually throw his body over it in a front flip and land on his feet. Now, to the Gear's shock, he was facing a profile of his back. He rushed in to slash, and it was only due to Justice catching this and swinging around in time that he managed to deflect a stab.

Even so, Sol had barely had his stab deflected when he used the momentum to swing around, spin his body, and then bring the sword back up at Justice's neck. The Command Gear appeared amazed again despite his stoic appearance, and quickly brought up a gauntlet to intercept this as well. A moment later, however…and the Gear let out a slight breath of air as Sol snapped up with both legs and delivered a double kick to his chest. Although no damage registered, again the Gear was forced backward. Not only that, but he recovered in a flash yet again to move in and stab for Justice's chest. The Gear was once again forced to deflect one stab, dodge another slice for his head, and block two more after that…

Justice began to grow irritated at this point. After blocking a third strike…one of his hands lashed out like a jolt and smashed Sol in the face. Again, his head snapped back and drug his body with it, and it appeared he would be flattened by it. However, to the Command Gear's surprise…the man abruptly recoiled back again, sword outstretched and aimed to stab him through the heart. Again, Justice was forced to move quickly to slam his palms on it in a blade catch. The visor looked to Sol, and saw that his eyes were no less passionate and dangerous, even though one was now starting to swell from a black eye, and the nose was leaking considerable blood.

The Command Gear abruptly ripped a hand off of the Fireseal and slashed out for Sol's head. The man quickly ducked to avoid it…and then stepped back up and launched out a kick to Justice's side. This time, the move was too fast to avoid it. Although it was doubtful it left much damage against that solid form, the blow nevertheless struck the side of the Gear and made him arch inward. A hiss went out from the mask, and quickly the Gear lunged forward and slashed again at Sol. Despite how tired he had to be getting, Sol flipped backward to avoid the first slash. Justice quickly moved in and sliced downward from head to toe where he landed. Yet Sol quickly sidestepped and avoided that as well. Then, to Justice's surprise, he advanced on him and began to slash furiously. The Command Gear was forced to stand and back up as his own gauntlets went out to meet the blade for each hit. This time…sparks flew off from each impact. One of their two weapons was being worn down from hitting the other. Sol himself moved in quick with rapid slashes and stabs, not giving the larger Gear the chance to recover. Justice soon was pinned in a way as he fought back against this assault…

Giving another hiss of anger, Justice finally smacked Sol's blade away and moved with incredible speed as he performed a flip kick. However, Sol once again was fast enough to move out of the way, and came back in stabbing almost before Justice had even landed again. The Command Gear quickly raised a gauntlet and smacked the stab away, then lashed out in a stabbing motion with his tail. This time, Sol managed to roll to the side, letting the tail scratch the stone debris. Again, he rushed forward with a stabbing motion. Glaring angrily at Sol for avoiding yet another hit, the Command Gear suddenly exerted his full levitation power. Instead of dodging in the traditional sense, Justice was launched into the air. The Fireseal stabbed uselessly where he had been. However, as soon as the sword had done this, Justice broke off his levitation ability, and let gravity pull him back down. A claw was extended and raised, and as the Command Gear fell, he zeroed in on Sol's face with the intent of ripping it off…

Yet despite the extra speed and power Justice had in this one…it was his biggest miss. Sol suddenly put on a burst of speed himself, and dodged out of the way. The claws had enough force in them to rip shreds of clothing off of Sol's leg from the sheer slipstream, but hit nothing but stone. And while Justice was still flailed out in his landing position with his claws outstretched, Sol ducked inward with his sword naked, charged it up powerfully enough to where it blazed with nearly-blinding light…and swung it at Justice's calf…

_"WAA!"_

The mixture of a hiss and a cry bellowed from beneath Justice's mask. The speed of the Gear immediately made him appear to vanish and reappear ten feet away from Sol…but it was too late. He had seen him coming too slowly. As his body reappeared in the same crouching position, something it felt made it turn its visor down to just below the right hip.

Edges gleaming from the heat of the Fireseal, a long cut was now in his armor. Sparks flew from several different sources of cut electronics. The visor stared at this for a moment…before reaching down with one of its long, taloned claws and dipped it into the cut within the armor. When it pulled it back…the tip was stained red.

The body of the Command Gear appeared to shudder for a moment, before it snapped its head back in Sol's direction. The man, still bursting with passion and energy, was already running in on Justice with his sword ready to thrust. The blood had already burned off of it. Feeling true anger for the first time in years…Justice rose to his full height, balled his hands into fists, and shrieked in rage.

_"ENOUGH!"_

Something rather unexpected happened on him saying this…something that, despite Justice's rage, did not escape his notice. Sol slowed. His feet so abruptly dropped speed that he nearly stumbled. The passion that was coursing through him suddenly seemed to simmer down. His grip on his sword seemed to weaken, and his arms started to lower.

Beneath the visor, the eyes of Justice raised in genuine surprise…before narrowing again as the Command Gear rushed forward.

Sol seemed to snap out of it a moment later, and his eyes widened as he saw Justice attack. But this time…it was too late. The heavy fist of Justice smashed into his stomach, crumpling his body around the blow. All strength nearly fled his body. The hulking Gear ripped him off of his feet with the blow, but didn't stop there. He continued to rush after him, carrying him on his fist as he did so, keeping him off of his feet and around his arm. Then…with great rage and mercilessness…Justice snapped his other fist back and pounded that deep into Sol's stomach. He yanked out the other at the exact same time, but Sol's eyes bulged even more as what air he had left rushed out of his lungs, and the rest of his strength evaporated.

Still Justice didn't stop. He kept rushing into Sol, and as he did he yanked his fists out and back in again and again. Each pound drove Sol's limp body onward, and each one kept him suspended in the sky as the Gear beat him. The flurry knotted and twisted Sol's insides and sent blood flowing freely from his mouth. After pounding him for what he thought was sufficient, Justice shot out an arm and hooked his talons into Sol's body, digging them under the outer skin. After that, he yanked him out of the air, snapped him around, and smashed him against the ground with enough power to break in a small crater. Yet still not satisfied, Justice yanked his bleeding body out, brandished his other talons, and proceeded to stab against Sol's chest with the inch-long weapons again and again, like a crazed knife murderer. After making Sol use what air was left in him to cry out in agony, and after leaving his bare chest a mess of blood and wounds, Justice yanked him back down in front of him, and then hooked his face and backhanded it immediately after with the same fist. As blood was sent flying from his mouth in both directions, the force of the blow yanked Sol back off of Justice's talons. He crashed against the ground a moment later. He didn't drag, but sprawled his body out and came to a halt. Only then did he lose the Fireseal, letting it fall out of his hand and to the ground.

Thus satisfied with Sol's pain, Justice raised up to full height and held his bleeding talons in front of him. A moment later…and blue flame erupted and consumed the fluid. The Command Gear kept his visor on Sol the whole time, expecting him to be dead by now.

Therefore, he was a bit intrigued when Sol actually began to moan and writhe on the ground. He coughed up more blood in a sputter, but kept shifting even after that. He seemed to be in considerable agony, but still wasn't totally crippled. He was down for now, but looked as if he could get up.

Justice, in response…smiled widely beneath the helmet.

_"So you still live, eh? In that case, Frederick, this is your lucky day. It seems I won't have to destroy you after all."_

Sol hacked once, but then cracked his one good eye open and looked back to Justice at this.

_"I can't believe this."_ Justice continued with a snicker. _"This whole time, I thought it might actually be part of your personality. Your genetics at the bare minimum. But that's it, isn't it? The only thing that separates you from being independent and being my minion is that strip of metal attached to your forehead, isn't it?"_

Sol's pupils immediately shrank as he stiffened. His pallor seemed to dim.

_"Don't bother denying it."_ Justice continued. _"I saw what happened when I yanked you up by your headband. I must have loosened it. That's why the sudden surge in strength. But it also looks like that's the reason why I was able to get you to stop your charge. So all I have to do is rip that piece of clothing from your head, and you're mine? Superb…"_

Justice immediately began to step forward. Sol slammed his mouth shut and swallowed, getting blood in it as well. He was weak, aching, and stiff…and much of his improved stamina had been beaten out of him. He had numerous internal and external injuries, and every move drove him into pain. Any normal human would have been dead. But still, he struggled to get to his feet. Yet he was too injured. He could barely move. He had barely managed to sit up when Justice closed half the distance

The Command Gear had just begun to raise one of his talons…when Sol heard a voice that made both him and Justice freeze.

"Justice!"

The Gear hesitated for a moment…before straightening up and putting his hands and arms to his sides. He looked almost like he was sighing. After that, he turned his head behind him, and stepped around to twist his body to do the same. This also allowed Sol to see who had spoken.

Sol's one good eye widened again, before his jaw tightened in anger.

_Fool...I told you to get them out of here…_

Ky Kiske was back in the stadium, and had his sword naked, sparking, and aimed for the Command Gear.

_"So…your archaic sense of honor wouldn't let you flee from my wrath?"_ Justice called out to him.

"I never feared you." Ky snorted back, eyes narrowing and face full of anger.

_"I seriously doubt that, boy."_ Justice mocked.

"I was just seeing to some of the civilians." Ky answered. "Command Gear Justice, by authority vested in me by IPF, I hereby execute a field sentence on you, as fits a criminal of your threat level and crimes. The punishment is death. Come forth and face true justice."

The Command Gear stared back a moment, but then simply let out a chuckle and turned away. Ky's eyes widened in surprise. It was obvious that he had expected Justice to attack…to rush forward and bat him away at the least. Yet he did nothing but ignore him, as if he wasn't even worth his time.

_"A human dealing in justice…what an epic paradox…"_ The Command Gear sneered. _"Away with you, boy. I have things to discuss with my newest servant."_ He took another step toward Sol.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." Ky challenged back, narrowing his gaze and preparing himself for battle again.

Justice stopped in mid-step, and then turned and looked behind him again. _"Oh?"_

"I've called in an air strike on this area." Ky responded, getting a bit of a dangerous smile himself as he did so. "They're less than ten minutes away now."

Sol's eye widened again, and he struggled to rise as anger began to paint his features.

_Damnit, Ky! Don't tell him that!_

But it was too late. The helmet of Justice seemed to rise, and he turned fully around again.

"We're using one of your own warheads." Ky continued. "Even you won't be able to survive. I have the only override for the strike. So if you want it, you're going to have to fight-"

Ky's voice suddenly broke.

One moment, he was looking at Justice from a far distance, seeing him looming over Sol.

The next…and the Gear was casting a shadow over Ky from one foot away.

"-me." Ky managed to let loose from his lips.

_"Alright, human."_ The Command Gear sneered, extending his talons. _"You wanted to fight me so badly…so now what?"_

For a brief instant, Ky was petrified. The aura of Justice seized him and froze his heart. However, the instant passed. When it did, Ky was able to grit his teeth and remember his duty. He quickly brandished the Thunderseal in front of him, and aimed his blade for Justice's heart. He gave a small yell and rushed forward…

Justice answered by calmly extending a hand and grabbing the blade. He held it in place without flinching, and let Ky struggle to get it free and fight back. While he did, he calmly pulled back a hand and then gave Ky the back of it with talons outstretched.

The power was so great that Ky was thrown into the air and sent into spirals over himself before falling back down to the ground and crashing. Blood flew everywhere from four lacerations along the side of his head. Already, Ky was weak and dazzled from that move. As he lay there momentarily, Justice flung the Thunderseal away to the side, for Ky had let go of it when he was knocked back. He quickly pushed himself up onto all fours and looked to the side…only to see that Justice was already over him and ready to crush him with one foot. His eyes widened, and he rolled out from under it as fast as he could. Justice's foot smashed down and obliterated where he was…but Ky wasn't free. Justice appeared to instantly disappear and reappear on his left. Ky noticed this and turned…but it was too late. The tail thrashed out and caught Ky underneath the nose, sending him flying back and another eruption of blood.

Ky had barely managed to sprawl out on the ground before Justice's tail lashed out and wrapped around his waist. None too gently, the Gear yanked him back up and to him. Somehow, despite his face now being covered with blood and being dazzled, Ky formed fists. As soon as he was up in range, he swung out both hands and beat Justice on the side of the helmet. All he got for his effort were cuts and bruises on his knuckles from hitting the hard armor. Justice ended his thrashing by smashing his own helmet into Ky's brow, making the knight go limp in his grasp. He followed up by driving his knee into his stomach, bashing his head one way and the other with his fists, and then slashing open a large bloody X on his chest by flashing both sets of claws at once. As the red fluid flew everywhere, and Ky's uniform fell into stained tatters, the man craned his head back and yelled in agony.

_"That uniform sickens me."_ Justice sneered. Immediately, he shot out a hand and seized Ky by one of his wrists. He yanked Ky's arm up, forcing the limp, beaten man to be upright, and then made his other hand into a fist.

_"Where is your failsafe?"_

Ky was panting from the sheer trauma his body was in, but he managed to look up with a dark glare at Justice. Vainly, he raised one leg and brought it down on Justice's knee. The intent was to break a kneecap. But unfortunately, the armor was too strong, and so was the Gear beneath.

_"Wrong answer."_

Justice tightened his fist…and instantly broke the wrist.

Ky's eyes went open wide, and he cried out in pain again. Justice let the arm fall. Blood was coming out from the wrist now, from where bone fragments had poked out. He seized Ky's other wrist next.

_"Where is your failsafe?"_

Ky was quivering now from the sheer amount of pain he was in…but he managed to glare at Justice.

"…Burn in Hell."

Snapping to life yet again, Ky swung both of his legs up with as much power as he could muster and gave Justice a blow beneath the chin. The head snapped back a whole inch before turning back to normal.

_"You must not like your bones very much, so-called knight…"_

Justice began to tighten his fist…

…Before suddenly relaxing, snapping his arm to one side, and flinging Ky away. As the man was thrown into the ground for a tumble, the Command Gear snapped around and looked behind him.

Sol had managed to get back to his feet, but that wasn't all. The Fireseal was in the ground next to him, and both of his hands held the two halves of Dragonslayer. One by the handle and one by the blade. He glared at Justice for a moment, before snapping a hand out and flinging the handle toward him. The blade was aimed outward and headed straight for the chest of the Gear.

In response, Justice planted his feet and flashed his talons. The blade reached him a moment later, and with an easy flick of the wrist the Gear smacked it out of the air. However, right behind it, whirling like some sort of strange shuriken, came the blade of the weapon. Justice had just finished knocking the first piece out of the sky when he swung his other fist in an uppercut, and smashed into the blade right in the middle. The weapon was sent airborne once again. Yet even as this happened, Justice brought up his tail again, formed a spike, and shot it straight out in front of him, past the path of both weapons…and right to the form of Sol Badguy, who had taken up his sword as soon as he was finished throwing, and running forward to thrust.

A moment later, and the appendage ripped through Sol's shoulder. The forward momentum of the man only shoved his body farther onto it. Soon, Sol ground to a halt and gave out a cry of agony as blood oozed out from his shoulder and down his back. He went rigid, and the Fireseal once more fell from his grip. He had intended the blades to act as a diversion as he ran forward to stab the Gear…but it had failed. He had neglected to keep in mind that Justice essentially had three appendages. Now, he went limp on the end of the tail.

Justice strolled forward, keeping him suspended on the end, until he was right in Sol's face. He proceeded to hoist him up and off the ground, and let his body hover right in front of him. The man had lost considerable blood, and his stamina was nearly gone. As a result, he could only weakly stare back as the Command Gear raised him in front of him.

The emotionless visor of the Gear glared back for a brief moment…before he calmly raised one taloned hand. Sol's look appeared to stiffen despite how weak he was. Fear seemed to flood his features. However, he couldn't do anything about it. His one arm was useless. The other could barely rise.

As such, he was unable to do anything as Justice seized the metal portion of his headband, and with an easy pull ripped it off of his head.

With that, Justice flicked his tail and sent Sol's body flying away from him. He crashed to the ground a moment later, once again sprawling out. Yet this time, he went totally flat. The power that had kept him going before seemed to have disappeared. That didn't matter to the Command Gear. He calmly watched as Sol went lifeless with his limbs loosely hanging in four directions. His head was back, and he breathed hard. Blood poured out from his wound.

Justice tossed the headband to the side, and let it clatter and click against the rocky ground.

_"Much better."_ He stated. _"Gear…you will not move or attack unless ordered."_ Once he had finished saying that, the barrels in his shoulders hissed, and once again began to emerge to fire again. He calmly began to turn around toward his other opponent. _"Now that you are gone…I'll-"_

Justice went silent. The eyes beneath the mask widened yet again, the most yet.

Ky Kiske was back on his feet, and had launched himself into the air. The Thunderseal was in his one good hand, aimed in a downward thrusting position. It was blazing with electricity. Ky was sweating and straining, no doubt having put all the power he had left into the weapon. He was already on the way down again when Justice turned. The Gear was too late to react, even for his own speed. With a sense of sudden panic and surprise, the Gear began to fire the rockets in his armor…

That was his biggest mistake yet…for that was when Ky managed to drive the fully charged Thunderseal into the top of the missile bays, down through the armor on the shoulder, and pierce it through the other side.

_"AAAAH!"_

An explosion rocked out within Justice's shoulder as he screamed in agony. The eruption punched the armor with such force that pieces of it were ripped off violently, and the shrapnel and blast tore through the shoulder and erupted in Ky's face. The knight himself gave a cry as he was ripped backward and sent crashing to the ground. Once there, he lay motionless for a moment before he grit his teeth and managed to sit. Hs attempts to stand didn't go so well though. As he struggled to get his legs beneath him, he let out a small cry and winced. He looked down to the source of his pain...and saw. Some of the shrapnel had embedded itself against his leg bones, poking out from his flesh..

He looked up again soon after, and saw that Justice was in far more agony. The Command Gear was writhing, holding his remaining good arm to his bad shoulder. All that was there now was a blackened ruin. The armor had worked too well. Most of it had held in, forcing Justice's limb to feel the full force of the explosion of his own missiles. And although the outside was armored, the inside was flesh and vulnerable. Black smoke fountained out of the interior. Sparks fizzled and the smell of burned flesh wafted through the air. The Thunderseal, still sparking and charged with the power that Ky had put into it, remained lodged in the shoulder. Blood was dripping from below.

For a brief moment, Ky stared back at Justice, seeing him having sustained more damage than he ever had in his life. There was a fool's hope within him that this would have been enough. Justice would have been too hurt to continue. However…he knew it wasn't true. This wouldn't have stopped him…and it didn't stop the Command Gear.

The visor flashed up, now scorred from the flames and heat, and Ky thought he heard an animal snarl from beneath it. The talons on Justice's good hand actually seemed to extend further as his palm went up and slammed around the handle of the blade. Not caring about the pain, the Gear yanked it out with one rip and proceeded to fling it behind him. This time, it went far into the air, over the stadium walls, and out over the city and street beyond. Ky heard it clatter to the ground and come to a rest.

The knight turned back to Justice, and soon struggled to push himself up, desperate to keep fighting…

When his windpipe was slammed shut. A crushing pain went into his neck as the vessels were pinched as well, and talons began to dig into the skin. Again, Ky was ripped off of his feet and into the air. Despite the agony as well as the lack of air to his lungs or brain, Ky feebly reached up with his one good hand. His bad arm raised too, but was otherwise useless. He looked down…and saw himself staring into Justice's soulless visor. And yet…somehow he could sense the hate pouring off of the Gear as he throttled him and held his body before him.

_"Once again…foolishness on your part, and some on mine as well. Whenever I'm trying to play with Sol, you seem to come in and stab me in the back in some way. This is the last mistake you'll ever make, insect. You've escaped my hand once too often…"_

Slowly, Justice began to crush his hand inward. He wasn't satisfied choking Ky to death. He wanted to crush his neck and pop his head off. As Ky's face turned purple, he writhed more strongly with all the power he could muster…but couldn't get away. He was helpless now. There was nothing left that he possessed. The visor stayed aimed perfectly on him…

That was…until it turned ever so slightly a few seconds later.

Ky never found out what exactly had made Justice turn his head. However, the answer was that the mask of the armor had allowed in the smallest scent. Ky himself caught it when it blew toward him a moment afterward. It was the scent of flesh burning.

Justice wasn't able to turn his head anymore…before a wet ripping sound suddenly erupted. Immediately, Justice's grip loosened. As he felt warm liquid splash over his body, Ky fell to the ground in a heap. He landed rather roughly and spilled onto his back. As he did, the smell of burning flesh grew even stronger than before. He was weak and dazzled, and soon he was gaping for air as the blood rushed back into his head. His senses swooned for a moment. However, in the end he was able to lean himself up and look over his body. The warm sensation, he realized...was blood. His eyes widened, and he quickly looked back above him. Justice was still there…but now Ky's face filled with surprise rather than fear.

Justice had gone stiff. His body was rigid in the final position he had made, preparing to crush Ky's throat. The visor stared out blankly at where Ky's face had been. Then, it slowly turned downward, the person behind it in as much disbelief as Ky himself.

A blade, smoldering with heat, causing the armor to curl around it and peel back, was plunged through Justice's torso and out the other side.

Justice's one free hand clenched and relaxed. It slowly moved toward the blade, but it didn't grab it. It was still burning hot. A strange throat sound began to come through the helmet. Slowly, the head of Justice turned and looked behind him. Ky, much as Sol had a moment earlier, turned and looked as well.

Sol Badguy, looking teaming with strength and power, eyes now blood red, held his blade through Justice's torso. His hair, no longer held back, splayed all around. The gaping wound on his shoulder had been burned closed. That was the source of the smell.

Justice gagged again…but managed a word through the helmet.

_"H…how…?"_

Sol responded by yanking his blade out sharply. His face was still full of passion, but he controlled it now, making it grim instead. As soon as the Fireseal left Justice's torso, it was as if a puppet's strings had been cut. He immediately collapsed to the ground. He landed on his knees at first, and somehow managed to hold himself up there.

As for Sol, he turned the Fireseal around and plunged it into the ground. Ky stopped looking at Justice, and focused entirely on Sol. In particular…he looked to the red eyes. The man himself turned and looked over to the ground. There was his headband. He quickly bent over, snatched it up, and then quickly brought it around his skull again. He closed his eyes as he leaned his head back and tied it. When he finished, removed his hands, and opened them again…they were blue once more. Only then did he look down to Justice's kneeling form.

"You were right about one thing after our last battle, Justice." He began calmly enough. Despite his face being sweaty and red, he managed to stay cool and moderate in his voice. "Gears were born to kill. It's in our nature. I chose to oppose mine using this device. Yet it wasn't what kept me from being controlled by you. That was in either my genetics or my will, whichever you prefer. I pretended to cave so that you wouldn't expect me to spring on you from behind."

The figure behind the mask gasped and let out a small cough. A small chuckle followed.

_"You little bastard…"_ He spoke in an amused voice. After that, however, the form stiffened and suddenly threw its body back as hard as it could. As a result, it managed to get off of its knees and spill back. Ky, recovered a bit now and still sitting nearby, began to scramble to his own feet here. The sudden shock and recovery enabled him to override the pain in his limbs. However, there was no need. As he stood up, Justice simply went onto his back. There wasn't much blood in the wound that Sol had left, but it did bleed and dribble its precious fluid.

_"I may be doomed to die at your hands…but I'm certainly not going to die kneeling before a pathetic human."_

Ky stiffened a bit here. Sol himself turned his eyes over to the knight, remembering their own battle not long before. A moment later, however, and Ky calmed down. His stony, cool face returned. Now, both men were standing over the beaten Justice. The Command Gear breathed in rasps for a moment, before turning his head over to the knight.

_"I can't believe it… I was beaten by the both of you again… Either it's my own foolishness…or perhaps destiny on your sides. I would have preferred to die at the hands of Sol…but knowing that this ape had a hand in it…"_

Ky glared down on Justice in response to this, saying nothing.

_"…Aren't you going to fill my ears…" _Justice continued. _"With some meaningless tirade about how your race has proven itself superior to mine?"_

Ky didn't answer this. He kept his head aimed downward and his look grim. What he eventually did, however, was surprising. He closed his eyes and turned his head to the side. He looked…regretful.

"…This isn't a victory I'm proud of."

The helmet actually stiffened a bit, as the face beneath it looked more intently at Ky.

"You were stabbed in the back." Ky explained. "You didn't even get to see the blow coming. It was an underhanded way to win…even for you. And I attacked you without warning myself. One of the things that sets us apart from your kind is that we can fight with honor. I violated that."

Sol looked up to this, and narrowed his gaze at Ky. Yet before he could think of anything to do or respond to…a rather loud, angry hiss from below sounded.

_"You little…"_ Justice scowled. _"You sickening human… You filthy little hypocrite… Even now, you try to make my loss more painful…by feeding me the nonsense that you're better than me…! You and your miserable self-righteousness! Your stupid ideals of so-called justice and mercy! I'd spit on you if I thought it wasn't worth some of my last breaths!"_ A hacking went out from beneath the helmet, and the Gear wretched and buckled. Yet as he returned to gasping again, the one healthy arm stiffened, and then shot out for his head in a spastic movement. He soon grasped his own helmet, and began to move his hand to the side.

_"You think you're just the picture of honor and chivalry…"_ Justice growled as he moved his talons to the side. He said nothing more. He just maneuvered his hand under the helmet. A moment later, and hissing began to burst out as the sealant of the helmet was broken.

On seeing this, both Ky and Sol began to stiffen up. Never before documented, before man or Gear, had Justice removed his helmet. Yet now, he began to break the sealant on it. For all they knew…it hadn't been removed since it had first been put on countless ages ago. However…Sol soon began to relax. His head bowed down and his eyes went to the side.

He knew what was beneath that helmet. Ky did not.

The trembling talons moved around the edge of Justice's head. After a few moments more, he had successfully undone all of the seals. That done…the clawed arm moved out and onto the front of the helmet itself, over the mask portion. The grip spread out and tightened, and soon a ripping sound went off from the helmet being affixed for such a long time. The rubber-like sealant at last was exposed to the air. The sound of the voice distorter quit. The panting behind the mask began to come out clearly. At last it was off, and the owner of the armor swung its arm down and let the mask clatter to the side.

Ky saw…and his jaw immediately loosened as his pupils shrank.

It was a woman.

Her long, reddish-violet hair seemed to prop her skull up like a cushion now. The black rubber portions of her armor seemed to adhere to her, covering her neck and climbing up the sides of her head like a second skin. Her face was ashy white, but not from the same cause as Testament. This had been from not seeing the sun in so long. Her face was without blemish or defect, almost looking like wax rather than true skin. Indentations were on it from where the armor had been attached for so many years, and they didn't recover. Blood was around her white lips, and was coming out more so as she breathed and spoke. Her eyes squinted against the dim light before relaxing. They were blood red, yet they were also faint and weak, as if they had lost all pigment. The pupils seemed to vanish into the retinas.

The eyes slowly shifted over to Ky. The knight looked down, seeming aghast and shocked. Sol showed nothing. He kept his arms crossed as he waited for what would come next.

Justice's eyes narrowed, and her bloody teeth grit.

"What's the matter?" She asked in a mocking, weak voice…no longer having any trace of male or machine on it, but a bold female voice instead. "Shocked? Upset? Horrified that the one you helped kill was a female?" She snorted, and did manage to spit a wad of blood in Ky's direction, although it fell short of him. "You sicken me. Male and female Gears alike…were willing to die for the cause of freedom. You thought of the males as simple soldiers to kill…a plague to wipe out…but you always avoided battling the female ones… You thought they were worthy of life…simply because they were female. We were all of the same mind and power…yet you thought of some of us being more 'human' than others because of sex…almost as if they were a different race… And you extended no such mercy, honor, chivalry…or any other foolish human notions…to anyone else of my kind… You simply thought I was a monster to be killed… You never allowed any other thoughts… Yet you dare to think I'm so wicked…for feeling the same way about your race…"

Ky didn't answer. He couldn't answer. Some of his shock faded, however, and his mouth shut again. After a while, he turned away and looked to the ground as well. He stared at a spot on it and didn't look away again. Justice seemed to realize he was still listening, and after coughing again she said more.

"I'm going to die…but I died my own person…not some mindless drone. Why do you think I fought Kliff…and ignored you? You're just some shock troop…an item on a chessboard… You're a powerful one…but you're not your own. You're a slave to your own…archaic…biased…and conflicting codes of ethics… They're what make you the lap dogs of others…and they make you only extend your ideals…to those you think are worthy… He was his own person at least…and he could think beyond good and evil… I'd have preferred to kill one like that…and now I'm ashamed to have your blade hurt me."

Ky kept his head bowed. He didn't show any other distress or change. He remained silent. Sol, however, straightened up a bit at this. This last monologue by Justice had reminded him.

"Kliff…"

The man began to turn to move.

"Wait…Frederick…"

Sol stopped in mid-step. He turned back to the fallen Justice. The Command Gear was looking at him now. Her eyes were softer, and her face less angry.

"I…wasted too much…talking to that fool…" She spoke in a more strained voice. It looked like she was going into more pain, and weakening. It wasn't going to be long now. "But…I was right…" She choked out between increasingly labored gasps. "My way…was the only way… You'd never…have been able…to live among them…if you hadn't tried to pass as one… They'd have hunted you down…Corrupted Flame…"

Sol didn't answer. He continued to stare expressionlessly down at the Gear. She stiffened a few more times…but then appeared to cross a threshold. It seemed the body had given up on trying to live after so many years. Now, it relaxed. Justice's eyelids drooped. She looked away from Sol and above herself. She spoke out in a near whisper, yet still audible enough for both to hear.

"Human…" She addressed to Ky. "Mark…my words… The Gears…will _never_ be beaten…" She swallowed once, staying silent for a brief moment, then concluded.

"Not so long…as that man…lives…"

Ky's head raised, and his eyebrows immediately crooked at this puzzling phrase.

However…Sol's eyes widened as he stared harder at Justice. A fire seemed to suddenly be ignited beneath him. His body tensed up as he leaned in closer.

"He's still alive?" He called out in a much louder voice. "Justice…he's still alive?"

The Gear was unmiffed by this. She smiled a bit wider, and her eyelids drooped to half closed.

"I wish…the three of us…could talk…one last time…"

Sol threw himself to his knees at Justice's side. His good hand shot out and grabbed her by the good shoulder, and immediately he tried to pull her up despite his weakness and her heft.

"Do you know where he is? Tell me! Justice, you have to tell me where he is!"

If Justice heard, then she didn't answer. The smile stayed on her face as her eyelids closed completely. Her head lost its support and slumped backward. Sol, nearly gritting his teeth, hand clutching desperately at her armor, looked on at her imploringly for a moment more. However…it was too late. He held her up only a bit longer before his face began to smooth out again. The urgency faded, and his body slowly relaxed. Once he was calm again, the man bowed his head and let out a long sigh. Then, he slowly let his one arm relax completely. Justice was lowered back to the ground. Once she was put to rest, she moved no more.

Sol stayed at her side, staring at her, a moment longer. As he did, Ky himself stayed cold for an instant before looking up and beginning to look around. He too had heard what Justice had said, and now that he was convinced the Command Gear was dead he wanted to find Kliff. He was weak and unable to do much more than hobble, but he began to move around and search the area.

Sol himself took one final look at Justice's dead body. As he did, he clenched his hand into a fist.

"…I'll find you and kill you." He whispered.

His hand relaxed after that, and he rose to his feet. He turned away from Justice, and soon his look softened again as he started to look around the area as well. In the chaos of the battle, anything could have happened to Kliff. And now, the blue flames that had come from Justice were beginning to die down. It was rapidly getting dimmer in the stadium. The exterior lights, fortunately, seemed to still be working, and let some glow come into the interior.

Finally, Sol looked to his left…and saw that Ky had already stopped. He was kneeling next to something at another part of the stadium. Sol turned and tried to run toward it…only to grimace and slow. Without his adrenaline rush, pain was become far sharper. He had to drop into a fast walk and hobble over to the location as best as he could.

As he drew nearer, and began to see over and around the irregular, broken field of the stadium…he began to make out Kliff's bloody, broken body. It was still breathing. Sol couldn't tell if it was stable or worsening though. At any rate, he was soon up to the side, and kneeling down next to it as well. Both men went silent as they looked down on him.

Kliff's face was already turned to Ky. He didn't appear to instantly notice that Sol was there. He was smiling at him, though his expression was tired.

"Little…runt…" He squeezed between his lips. Talking seemed a burden for him. "You beat her twice…and I couldn't beat her once…"

"Don't talk, sir." Ky immediately answered. "I'm going to get ahold of the IPF. They'll pick you up and have you back in France within the hour."

Kliff managed the slightest frown, and gave a snort.

"Kid…my spine is broken…" He slowly, almost hesitantly, answered. Hearing this immediately made both Ky and Sol alike pale. Ky swallowed...and his hand developed the smallest tremble.

Kliff shook his head. "I might pull through…but then what…? At my age…I'll just wait around to die… I think I'd rather…go out here…right after one last fight with that bastard…" He caught himself here, and gave a weak chuckle. "…That bitch…whatever…"

"Sir…" Ky began to answer.

"You…better cancel…that strike…before it's too late…"

Ky was silent in response to this. He bowed his head slightly. Kliff turned his head a bit more to him in confusion.

"What's wrong…?"

"…I canceled the strike before I came in." Ky answered. This caused Sol to look up and back to him, though not necessarily in surprise. He just stared at him. "It didn't seem right…to kill him…her…in such a cowardly way… And I wasn't going to let you die…or even Sol die like that. I swore to God that I would kill Justice if all else was to fail, or would die trying. But I wasn't going to let that blast happen."

Kliff was silent for a moment. Ky kept his head bowed. Sol showed nothing. At last, the old man smiled again.

"You ballsy son of a bitch…" He croaked. "Irresponsible as hell…but something I would have done if I was ten years younger… But you're right… She killed enough people…there wasn't a need to make other people…sacrifices to finish her… That took guts…and character… That's what I knew you had when I first saw you…all those years ago when you first wanted to enlist… I may have never told you this…but I'm glad I picked you as my successor… I'm proud of you…"

Ky kept his head bowed, but Sol was able to see his face redden slightly.

"…Thank you, sir." He managed to choke out, just barely sounding official.

"I'm a civilian now, Captain…" The old man snorted. "It's just Kliff."

Ky paused and swallowed, but then managed to speak a quieter phrase.

"…Thank you…Kliff."

Kliff stared at Ky for a moment longer, but then turned his head toward Sol. He hesitated a moment before smiling again.

"So…that's the answer, Frederick…" He murmured. "I should have known…years ago… Maybe it was my pride… I wanted to think a regular human…could be that powerful…that I could become that strong… Our greatest warrior…was a turncoat…"

"I was never a turncoat." Sol flatly answered. "Because I never abandoned the side of my own species."

Kliff kept smiling. "…I won't pretend…I can begin to know…what goes on in that head of yours, Frederick… Why you thought you needed to kill them…"

"It was simple." Sol answered. "To me, there was never any distinction between human and Gear. There were only those who wanted to destroy innocent lives and those that wanted to save them. Justice was wrong. She didn't want freedom for her kind. She wanted her kind to be slaves beneath her. She was angry at humanity for using her as a tool, but as for the rest of her kind…they were just weapons that changed ownership. That's why she used Testament, why she killed him as soon as she had no more need for him. The Gears would never be free so long as she lived. I was fighting for both humans and Gears in that war."

Kliff paused for a moment after hearing this. His smile faded a bit at first. Yet as Sol concluded, it spread on his face again.

"…I think now…I'm starting to get what you were trying to tell me…before we left for this island…" He spoke. "And I think…I might believe you… I wish that more of them had been like you, Frederick…"

The man hesitated, but then gave a smile of his own.

"…And I wish there had been more people like you, Kliff. I may have killed many Gears in the war…but the mark on this world that I am most proud of that I left is that I saved the boy who would grow up to become Kliff Undersn."

Kliff smiled a bit more, and gave a snicker. After that, he stared at Sol for a bit longer…seeming to take in his image and features, as if he was burning them into his memory for where he was going. Or perhaps he was studying that face hard…and seeing that, underneath the blood, cuts, and swellings, it was still the same after all this time as it was the first day he saw it. Once he had seen enough, his eyes closed and he appeared to relax and rest.

"…See you later, Frederick…but not too soon, I hope."

The old man took in a deep breath after this and exhaled.

He didn't inhale again.

Both Sol and Ky stared down at the man…a man who had died in peace. He didn't strain or struggle or try to hold on to the last. He appeared to just let his spirit free at the end of it all. He looked content…satisfied…that he had gone out exactly as he had wished, and now had no regrets left. He may have had no family…no deathbed…no official mourners…but it didn't matter. He had his father and his son at his side. He was able to say goodbye to the both of them. After that, there was no reason left for him to hang on any longer. He went off to join the rest of his comrades who had fallen over the decades of war.

The two men silently looked over him. Although neither man cried, both of them felt sadness and regret at seeing their mentor/pupil go. However…Sol, on his part, couldn't feel too sad. He knew that this was how Kliff had wanted it to end. There was little doubt in his mind that he let himself go at that point. It wasn't the pain and trauma alone that had killed him. And Kliff had lived up to all of his expectations. The boy he had met had never forgotten his warning to him, and had devoted his life to living out his hopes for him. That was no greater honor that he could have given him.

At length, Sol began to hear Ky whispering. He looked up only slightly before he realized he was hearing a prayer. When that happened, he leaned his head back down and just listened. Yet eventually, the man was done. And once that happened, he began to stiffly put his legs beneath him to rise again. Sol detected this, and began to tuck his own legs under to get up.

After a few moments, both men were on their feet, and once again face to face. Ky kept his eyes down for the moment, still looking at Kliff. He almost appeared to not even notice Sol. As for the other man, he held his ground for a moment. He wasn't sure what was going to go on from here. It was clear enough that neither of them were in good shape to fight anymore. Ky was without his weapon, and so between the two Sol had the clearest advantage. However…Sol hoped that somewhere in there Ky may have lost some of his anger…

He ventured a shadow of a smile at last.

"…Looks like you're the one who was the distraction this time, Ky."

In response, the knight, to Sol's surprise, turned his body away and literally gave him the cold shoulder.

"…Don't talk to me." He stated, almost angrily.

Sol's smile faded, and he instantly looked puzzled.

"You're one of them." Ky stated flatly. "This whole time, you were one of them…"

Sol's puzzlement faded as well after that. Instead…his eyes began to narrow as he felt irritation starting to come up within him. So…that was the issue.

He crossed his arms and formed a stern expression. "I didn't think anyone would understand. But you know full well that I was on your side the whole time."

Ky's head turned up, and soon Sol found his blue eyes staring at him coldly. His look, if anything, seemed more spiteful and loathing than it did before their fight.

"Do I?" He asked. "I always wondered why you tried to get the Fireseal for yourself. I always wondered where you had come from and how you became so strong. What other secrets have you hid from me, Sol? What did you want that sword for so badly? And what did Justice mean by what she said?"

Sol felt the blood in his veins begin to heat up. He felt his fingers begin to tighten. Anger started to fire up in his brain. At last…he couldn't take it anymore.

Moving too fast for Ky to see or react, he raised his good arm and slapped the man across the face.

The force was sufficient to send Ky's face swinging to the side. It would have drawn blood if Ky's nose wasn't already bleeding. Immediately, the knight's face turned back, his teeth now gritting, and looking very angry. He might have sprung on Sol anyway in another moment, sword or no sword, but he was stopped. For the first time in their encounters…Sol's face had turned genuinely angry. He had held this in a long time, but he couldn't anymore.

"You want to know something, Ky? People like _you_ were the real reason I left the Sacred Order. People who were too shallow and weak to ever see past their own biases and prejudices. You saw me fight for years in the Sacred Order saving lives and stopping Gears. You saw me fight against Justice myself. I saved your life tonight. Yet because of this sword…because you now know the truth about me…I no longer fit into one of the two categories in your small mind. Good and evil. There is no room for gray. So instead you magnify the sins of those you don't like, and you blot out the sins of those you do so that everything is either one or the other.

"I once thought you were a decent person. I actually wanted to be your friend. I thought that after tonight we could see each other as comrades. Yet as far as you're concerned, time stopped moving the day I took the Fireseal. Nothing else that happens matters."

Ky continued to look angry. His good arm stayed balled into a fist. And he looked on the brink of lashing out and striking Sol back as he had been. However…he didn't move. He just stood there and fumed as Sol talked.

After a moment of silence for Ky to muse this over, Sol gave a snort and simply turned away. He put his back to the knight and looked to walk away from him. Ky saw this, and nearly moved out to try and stop him.

"If you want to attack me, be my guest." Sol threw over his shoulder, halting Ky before he could do just that. "If you want to tell your organization about me, that's fine as well. I don't care. I just know I don't care about being your friend anymore. Justice was right. Frankly…you're so simple I don't care to get to know you. I already understand you completely. And, to put it in her words…you sicken me."

Sol began to calmly walk away after this, his footsteps gently crunching against the cracked pavement.

Ky's teeth flashed. He nearly jumped out to attack again from behind. He nearly shifted his front foot. However…he got no farther. He stayed tensed and ready to ambush him…but couldn't do anything else. Perhaps it was related to Justice's way of immobilizing one through fear…but somehow Ky had to let the Command Gear's words sink into his psyche. He couldn't block them out or dismiss them because they were coming from the "enemy". His rigid personal moral code had already been fractured too much today to allow him to prepare that as a defense. Exhaustion and weariness, not to mention grief over the death of Kliff, kept him from lashing back out violently against Sol's own claims. They too began to sink into him. And like it or not…he couldn't keep himself from thinking about them. Part of him said not to…to ignore them and wave them off as meaningless words. But every time he did that…a claim from Sol or Justice accused him of being close-minded and blind to the truth. So instead, he tried to think over things, and tried to see that, indeed, his way was the best possible way by logically and spiritually thinking things through.

However, that did not happen.

At the end of everything…he would be dead along with countless other millions if it hadn't been for his enemy.

This thought was too much for him. It went against all of his schemata and ideals. It was practically a universal paradox to him. And as a result…he was paralyzed and unable to move as he watched Sol slowly make his way to the exit of the stadium. He couldn't move a foot to go after him or chase him. He could do nothing except watch him vanish into the darkness of the stadium interior, and then emerge on the other side only to soon fade off into the darkness of the rest of the city. Even after he was gone…he couldn't make himself chase after him even to look. He was frozen by the power of Justice's final words and Sol's rejection. And though Ky told himself that Sol was bluffing…that he'd never be his friend…that he wanted nothing to do with him…he couldn't make himself believe that. He was beginning to learn that you can only insist you are right when countless other facts and voices are saying you're wrong before you start to doubt yourself. And he hated that. He told himself he shouldn't doubt himself…that he was a servant of God and in the right. And yet…he couldn't believe that either. Somewhere, deep within his heart…he wondered if he was lying to God by saying that. If he was lying to himself…

Ky was left alone in the stadium. The eternal foes lay dead around him. The father of human hope and determination…and the mother of the Crusades…both dead and practically side by side. The last of the lights faded. The wind began to grow cool and came into the stadium, blowing away clouds of dust and debris.

The knight finally inhaled and exhaled, and then lost his anger completely. With a grim face, he turned and began to walk out of the stadium through a different route, to get his sword and to radio the IPF.

* * *

_To be concluded..._

FINAL CHAPTER: D...


	26. D

Hey everyone. Last chapter at last. Before I begin, I want to clarify a potential mistake in this chapter. A captain outranks a commander, at least in the navy. However, I refer to the unnamed officer in this chapter as "commander", and he is treated as Ky's superior. Just warning if anyone feels like nitpicking me. Also, due to the number of page breaks, some of the text might not have gone through. Be careful. Enjoy.

* * *

**"D"**

* * *

"I was too weak to give pursuit. I had no choice but to let him go." 

The IPF Commander gave a snort in response. His arms were still crossed as he glared down his nose at Ky Kiske. There was a definite sharp contrast between the two. The Commander was prim, proper, groomed, and looked to be the picture of military efficiency and effectiveness. Ky, on the other hand, was still slowly and painfully wrapping his wounds in bandages and extracting bits of metal and other shrapnel from his skin. Luckily, some of the incoming officers had plenty of medical supplies.

"I honestly can't believe it, Captain." The Commander responded. "You rant and rave…you make one special order and warrant request after another…you request leaves of absence every other week to follow up on a chase…and when you finally have Sol Badguy in front of you, you let him go."

Ky paused in the middle of dabbing one of his open wounds with a cotton swab, dipped on the end with antibiotic. He kept his eyes downward, however…and cold as usual.

"…As I told you, sir. I was too weak to give pursuit."

The Commander let out a sigh in response and rolled his eyes. "Yet you seem well enough now to refuse being airlifted out of here, and to doctor yourself."

"Just first aid, sir." Ky answered. "And I had to stay to give my field report."

The Commander kept his frown. There was no news there. Only a few hours after the air strike was aborted and Ky gave the word that the area was secure, some three hundred IPF members arrived in the vicinity. Twelve dozen more were beginning to land at key points around the island. All of them were beginning to launch an in depth investigation of the grounds for the tournament, and to arrest anyone they could find. Already, two civilians had been found tied up and had been arrested. Four other bodies had been located. None of them, however, coincided with Ky's story. Those ones had yet to be located.

Ky and his superior officer were in the shadow of the stadium. The sun was high now, and everything in the ruin of the city was visible. It had come to life at this point, now that ships were being kept running, and police officers were swarming everywhere. Readings were being took, evidence collected, and all other signs of struggle or activity being swamped. They had already found the area they believed to be the Gear, who was none other than the infamous Black Knight, Testament, used as his base of operations. However, they were still trying to make their way toward an entrance.

The Commander paused for a bit longer, but then let out another sigh as he straightened again. "Is that the entire story?"

"Yes sir."

"Well, between what you gave us, and what we got from that albino man, we should have the full timeline pretty soon…"

* * *

"Get in." 

A rough shove accompanied this, one that nearly made Chipp spill forward on his face. That would have been bad…because his arms were cuffed behind him, and he was unable to brace himself with them. The young man had to struggle not to turn and give a glare to the officer who had done this. A day ago, and he might have wheeled around and beat him to a pulp. Yet he was too weak right now to do much in the way of fighting. And even if he hadn't been…there was another factor as well. It seemed that he was still having to learn even now, without his mentor…

Chipp straightened back up to full height. As he did, he pushed his body back and rubbed against the officer. In response, he got a rather hard object pressed into his back and another shove. This time, Chipp went with it. He stepped up and into the waiting helicopter. This wasn't a small one, like the kind used for reconnaissance or a gunship. It was much larger, and he saw that it had numerous seats along it that featured attachments for restraints and chains to whoever sat in them. The cockpit was completely closed off from the rear. It was obvious that it was some sort of criminal transport vehicle. For now, Chipp was the only one in it. He wasn't sure if there'd be more.

As Chipp stepped in, the officer followed him close behind. He led him on until he got to a seat near the front. After that, he roughly extended his hand and shoved the young man down into the seat. Again…Chipp had to struggle not to react violently. He went with it and got into his position. After that, the officer reached over and quickly buckled him in with a locking restraint, and next used cuffs on the bottom of the chair to lock his feet down as well.

"Keep quiet and do what we tell you." The officer flatly ordered. "You'll get to a doctor faster that way."

With that, the officer turned and walked back out the way he had come. Soon he went to the open rear of the helicopter, stepped outside, and then turned around. He reached up, grabbed the hydraulic cover, and slammed it shut. A clicking immediately was heard as it locked. Chipp was left alone in the silent interior.

Once that happened, he inhaled calmly, exhaled calmly, and then turned and faced ahead. One of his hands, balled into a fist, relaxed and revealed a key he had quite easily swiped off of the officer's belt when he had ran into him on standing. Once out, he quickly moved it to his fingers and began to go for his handcuffs.

Yes…he had stayed. There was little other option for him. He had no ride off of this island. He had never really thought of ensuring one. All he had cared about was his revenge. And now, after being beaten and left to hang in a bizarre cage for a day or so…Chipp had time to get some clarity of mind and think other things through. He had time to consider all of the things he had seen and discovered. And in the end, he had elected to turn himself in. Not permanently, of course. He knew enough to know that he'd still be tried for murder. He couldn't allow that. Not yet. But he did tell the police the story, as best as he could remember it. It deserved to be told. At the least…that crazy Dr. Baldhead deserved some credit for what he did for them before he died.

However…Chipp thought of other things besides that. In particular…he kept thinking back to the fight. The one fight of the "tournament" he had officially been in. Him versus that stranger in red… That man who seemed to know all of his tricks and respond to them…counter them… And he thought about what he had told him…that he wasn't "worthy" of avenging his master…

At the time, Chipp had been infuriated by that. His desire for vengeance blinded him to all else, and he struck back as violently as he could. As a result…he was sloppy and easily beaten. He was bashed soundly until he was unable to stay angry. And once that happened…his mind finally began to clear. He began to hear the man's words anew.

Chipp wanted revenge more than anything. His master deserved justice. And yet…how had he been going about it? Many of those men had been wicked…but did they deserve death? If so, then hadn't Chipp deserved it himself? Hadn't he once been at the mercy of others as well as his master, and been given a second chance? Why should they have been any different? He could have beaten them and left them for the police to take…but he didn't want that. He wanted to spill blood. And it wasn't entirely out of a desire for justice. He realized now…it was a way of making himself feel better. Killing other criminals…spilling their blood…made him feel like he was somehow avenging Tsuyoshi's blood as well. And the more he did so…the more he wanted. It made him feel better…more in control…more justified… Until, as Chipp realized now…it had become another addiction.

That man in red…he didn't know Tsuyoshi from anyone else. Yet he had been so eager for vengeance that he had attacked him, simply because he wouldn't answer a question. A question that, Chipp knew now, was unjustified in the first place. The man was right. He was out of control. He was only a step from attacking innocent people. The soul of his master would never have forgiven him that if he had done so. And he himself would not have been able to either. Furthermore, he had gotten wild…sloppy…uncontrolled… He was violating everything in his teaching.

It seemed so strange to think of it this way now…but Chipp realized that the man beating him, his capture, and everything that had followed…all of it had worked for the best for him. Because of it, he was stopped in the middle of his rage and forced to think. He was forced to look at himself, when he was restrained and unable to do anything else to block out the pain. And once there…he saw the wrongness of what he was doing. How he wasn't going about on a mission of true justice…but rather smothering himself with feelings of revenge.

As the key finally fit into the cuff, and Chipp began to slowly turn it, he decided on what he had to do next. He'd go back into training. He still had to sharpen himself considerably before he was on Tsuyoshi's level. He had to be able to beat any opponent. And from now on…he'd wage his revenge more calmly. More carefully. He'd pick his targets more specifically. He'd ensure only the truly guilty ones were punished. As for those he needed information from…there were other ways to make them talk without threatening them with death. Some far worse than making them pay for their crimes with their lives.

The cuff fell from his wrist, and Chipp immediately went to the other. He'd pretend to be captured for now. Until they got back to shore. Then he'd make his escape and make it back to the States. He had lots of work to do…

* * *

The Commander turned back to Ky after a moment. "The Commissioner is going to have it out for your head, though. You disobeyed a direct order, and because of that several known criminals escaped." 

Ky looked up from his doctoring and put the cotton swab to one side. "I believe that my judgment will prove to have been the best at the end of the investigation. I did cancel the air strike, but Justice is dead and the area is now intact for further in depth investigation. I was trying to spare lives. I wasn't willing to kill innocents to take out criminals. Besides…there's still a chance that they can be recovered before they manage to escape the island."

* * *

"Please leave me alone." 

Axl cracked a smile as he kept on Millia's heels. "What? After all we've been through together, love?"

Millia grit her teeth as she kept pushing through the trees. Right now, she would have preferred to be able to run to her motorboat, but that was hardly an option now. She was still rather bashed and weary, and she hadn't slept or eaten in days. What stamina she still possessed had been used up in running away from Testament's prison and the approaching IPF members. It wasn't until she was finally clear of them and back into the safety of the nearby forest that she realized she had picked up a shadow…in the form of Axl Low.

"Besides, I ain't got a choice." Axl continued. "I don't have a boat. I hitched a ride here. I gotta get off this island somehow."

"…And you figured I was too exhausted to beat you off." Millia grumbled.

"I'd be lyin' if I said that wasn't a factor."

Millia actually bared her teeth that time. Too bad he was telling the truth. She had gotten so tired that her hair locks could barely extend.

"You _do_ owe me for savin' you back there."

"Don't remind me." Millia answered, not feeling like debating that May and Chipp probably had as much to do with it themselves, not to mention the fact that she had been the one who freed herself from her own prison. "You may get more than you bargained for by tailing after me. I'm still a marked woman. I never did take out Zato-1 on this trip. He could kill us both if he found us now."

"He can't possibly be as bad as those roots." Axl answered back. "So…what will you be up to now?"

"Trying to find another lead on him, or another way I can attract him to me, if you must know."

"You've really got it out for him, don't you?"

Millia nearly slowed in her step when she heard this. Hearing that particular phrase brought back some memories…memories of being back in the subway and duking it out with that man in red. She remembered what he had told her. And at the memory of that, her face softened somewhat.

"You could take a few days off…" Axl suggested. "You know…just until the bones begin to knit before you start breaking 'em again."

Millia didn't answer…but she thought back to where this had begun. Her sitting in a bar, the same as she had done most nights, wandering in and out from city to city. The thoughts of how she was just drifting through the mortal coil called life. The fact was…she had been more alive and active when she heard Zato-1 was back then she had been in years. When she realized that…she realized that the man in red might have been right. What was she doing? What life did she have for herself? Was the substance of her existence wrapped up in trying to justify herself? In trying to avoid her own sins in the past? And if so…then what was she doing?

"Get a tan…see a movie…spend a fortnight styling all of the hair you have crammed in that head…"

The man said she had to find something worth living for. Something worth fighting for. But what? Had she ever really cared about anything else? Was their anything in her life that she could think of? And if not…then what sort of life did she really have? Just her and her empty soul… And if so, then he was right. She didn't have anything else but her revenge or her desire to live. And that in itself wasn't enough. If she wanted to have a life…she had to start making it for herself. She had to try and find the something worth living for. She had to try to make a difference for herself.

"I don't know…what's still around after a hundred years? Is Rio still ticking? Cancun? Paris?"

"…Ireland."

Axl stopped in the middle of his suggestions, and though Millia couldn't see it, he turned to her in confusion.

"Pardon?"

"I'm going to go to Ireland now." Millia continued. "There's enough power in this boat to get me there in a few hours. You can come with me, if you like. I'm going to go into the first pub I can find and order a thick beer. You can come with me inside." She paused after saying this…but then added something else, almost as if this was the point to the small monologue.

"If you buy me a drink…I'll talk to you."

Millia continued to walk as she said this. Axl, meanwhile, paused a bit before he kept on after her. He didn't know what had brought this on. He wasn't even sure what significance it had to it. However…he did feel a bit better on hearing this. So…Ireland was still kicking? Axl was British, but he also had a thing for good bars. And he doubted that after all that had gone on that the Protestants and Catholics were still blowing each other up. Since the tournament had fallen through, he figured he'd have to get used to being in this time period for a little while. It'd be nice to go someplace normal like a pub and forget about Gears and bombs and man-eating plants and hair…

_The world's gotten real crazy…_ Axl thought to himself with a sigh.

* * *

"I wouldn't be too sure about that." The Commander responded. "Before we even got here, we were already picking up radar signals. Apparently there were two different landings at two different times. One happened about six hours ago…"

* * *

May angrily swatted a bug on her neck. She grumbled as she walked along. She was still sore and bruised from having been bashed around by that giant. It would take days before she was fully healed. Of course…she could be dead by then. 

It was still night, although dawn was fast approaching. And much as she had been when she first started this, May found herself walking through the forests on the island alone. The others had broken up once they were out of that hole. May herself, on hearing the truth about a bomb, had turned and run for it. That probably wasn't the best idea. She couldn't run that far being weighed down by the giant anchor, and by the time she was in the forest and thought that she was safe, she realized she had separated herself from all of the others. Needless to say, she felt like smashing herself in the head with her own anchor and ruefully turned to begin trekking through the forest again.

As the young woman came to a clearing, and began to emerge from the forest to trudge through the long grass in it, she grumbled to herself. This tournament had been the biggest bust of her life. She hoped to get in and have Johnny busted out. Now she was stuck on this overgrown weed. She had been beaten by giants, entombed by plants, nearly sliced up by crazy doctors, ran for her life from a bomb (which, it turned out, never went off in the first place), she had no food, no water, no ways of getting ahold of the May Ship, and she was left to run around on this island until she died. Worst of all…none of this had done a thing to help bust Johnny out of prison.

May couldn't take it any more. It drove her nuts. The girl suddenly planted her feet and stood her ground. Balling her hands into fists and looking thoroughly irritated, she turned her head to the sky to give out a yell of desperation and rage…

And was immediately bowled over by a blast of hot air.

The pirate gave a cry and opened her eyes in shock as she was thrown backward, head over heels, losing her hat in the process. Even as she did, a sonic roar began to fill her ears. It was practically mind numbing, and she was so disorientated from being blasted back all of the sudden and having been beaten so much already that she could barely make out what was going on. However…the sound did seem somewhat…familiar.

May landed with her head on the ground, her feet in the air, and her skirt splaying over her body, exposing her skivvies. As it did, the wind around her died down, as did the sound of the roaring. However, the blast still came, and there was still the sound of roaring, likely the source of whatever was generating the wind. May stayed motionless for a moment, before flailing out madly to try and right herself. Seeing as she wasn't even fully aware of what position she had ended up in, that took a moment. Yet in the end, she threw herself down and up into a seated position. Pouting a bit, she quickly rose to her feet, snatching up her hat with her and placing it back on her head. As she rose up and looked out, however…her irritation vanished.

It was the May Ship.

Naturally, the massive airship could barely fit into the clearing. The bottom loading bay was hovering just above the ground. The massive engines were turning in order to keep it aloft at a height of only a few feet. Some of the trees on the edges were being bowled over or blasted aside. Yet it managed to stay there. And right now, as May gaped in amazement, it was a miracle. It was the best sight she could hope to see.

Even as May stood there in dumbfounded surprise, the bottom loading bay opened, allowing people to exit. One did a moment later. April, smiling and looking rather clean and unmarred compared to May, leapt out and gave her a wave. Yet soon after that…a much taller figure leapt out. A hand reached up and grabbed his wide-brimmed hat as he did so to keep it from blowing away in the blast, but once he was out he removed it and looked up, beaming his own smile at May.

His wide hat was black, as was the long black coat he wore and his black pants. Gold fastenings and buckles stood out from it, and especially on his large black belt that he wore around his waist. His boots appeared to be brown leather, however. He wore no shirt, exposing a rather muscular chest, although it wasn't "ripped" or "hulking". His messy blond hair poked out from under the brim of his hat, possessing an affixed silver skull. Aside from this, he carried a curved wooden stave at his side, and looked at the world through jet black sunglasses.

May saw this…and had to pinch herself quickly to prove she wasn't dreaming.

She was wrong. The May Ship was the _second_ best sight she could hope to see.

_"JOHNNY!"_

In seconds, seeming to forget the fact that she was tired and sore, May had run up to Johnny and flung her arms around him so tightly that she was airborne for a moment, and she and the man twirled around once before returning to their original positions. Even then, Johnny soon looked a bit uncomfortable from the crushing hug that May continued to give him. However, he kept smiling and looked down at her.

"How's my favorite first mate been doing?"

May released a bit, and beamed up into Johnny's face. "I'm fine…" She said distractedly, having instantly forgotten all of the woes that had befallen her until this point. "But forget about that. What about you? You were in prison! I was so worried! I got in this tournament to try and get this Gear to bust you out…"

Johnny gave a nod. "I heard about that. April and the rest of the crew told me everything. Pretty brave of you, May, to go in all by yourself."

May's eyes nearly teared in joy as her face turned as red as a tomato. She nearly swooned before managing to calm down a bit. After composing herself, however, she looked a bit more anxiously at her idol.

"But how did you get out of that jail by yourself? We tried thinking of everything to bust you…"

Johnny cracked a cocky smile and put his hands on his hips.

"Oh, you all didn't have to worry about me. There isn't a prison built that can hold Johnny Sfondi. All I had to do was wait until the guard came by to move me to the interrogation room. She was a pretty young thing…so it wasn't in my heart to hurt a lady that much. I settled for just knocking her out. After that, it was simply a matter of beating up every last guard in that entire institution and pirating the first transport plane I got my hands on."

May continued to beam at him. "You're so valiant, Johnny…" She spoke with dreamlike admiration. Yet as she looked on at him…her brow furrowed slightly in confusion. "…What's that on your neck?"

Immediately, Johnny's smile faltered. Nearly giving off a bead of sweat, he reached up around his collar and quickly pulled it up and over a red splotch that seemed to match a certain woman's lips. "Um…nothing. Must have gotten scratched there during the escape is all."

May seemed to accept this answer, and soon went on smiling.

"As soon as Johnny met back up with us, we came out to pick you up." April continued for him. "There's a locater in all of our uniforms. All I had to do was lock on to your location and come and get you." After this, the pirate blushed somewhat and gave an innocent shrug. "Sorry I didn't think to give you a way of contacting us. I didn't hear until now how rough this tournament was. We heard on the radio there were all sorts of bloodthirsty types coming in. The IPF is getting ready to swarm the island. And you said that there really was a Gear here?"

May impatiently raised a hand and waved it at April without looking. "Yeah, yeah…it was great…" Immediately she snapped it back and clung onto Johnny again, already starting to lead him back to the ship. "Now tell me more about how you escaped, Johnny. I want to hear your whole story…"

* * *

"It happened again just as we arrived. We saw that it matched the signature of a Zepp airship. We didn't have time to formulate a response, but it's probably likely that the slave soldier got away…"

* * *

Potemkin stood with arms crossed. His head was aimed toward the ground. All in all, he looked to be in a humble status. He held his tongue and continued to look that way as he waited for his "commanding officer" to issue a verdict…and hoped his story was solid. 

The hulk had managed to make it considerably north of the city. It had taken quite some time, but he still had enough strength to make it that distance in a short period. Once there, he curved toward the nearest beach, one of the potential rendezvous points. But long before any of this had happened, he had sent another message toward Zepp. This one announced that the mission was over. The target was neutralized. As for potential technology, it was unrecoverable.

He wasn't able to give a bigger report until he had arrived at the point. This was one of several he was supposed to go for when he needed to be picked up. His superiors had recognized it might not be prudent to do so in the middle of the hot zone. As he had expected, they were en route to the Gear's base before he had given them a call. Yet on hearing his message, and realizing that he had carried out his original duty, they altered course to this area instead. In the time it took the giant to arrive, he only had about ten minutes of idle time before a massive, fully armed, Zepp air battleship touched down on the shore.

There were several soldiers moving about now, but they weren't going to be there long. They were investigating as much of the area as possible before they had to leave again. The IPF had already responded with greater numbers, and Zepp wasn't willing to pick a fight with them at this time. They would have to settle for what they could get while they could.

That left Potemkin here, much in the same position as he had been in when he arrived. None of them seemed to mind his injuries that much. That was fine by him. Most of it was just dermal anyway. Even Kliff Undersn had barely been able to leave any lasting damage on him. However…that still left him with the matter of General Gabriel…and the matter he had before this started. And the fact that he had to hope he believed his tale. He was struggling to draw up on his old irritation and aggression and use that to mask up his fear. He hoped it worked…

Although he wasn't in the comfort of an office, the general still looked as rough and ready as he normally had. He kept his gaze leveled on Potemkin, his arms behind his back, and his look stony and businesslike.

"So…that's all?" The General asked. "This is what you have to report? The Gear is dead but the weapon systems he devised are unrecoverable?"

"Yes sir." Potemkin simply responded.

"But you can confirm it was a Gear?"

"Yes sir."

Gabriel crossed his arms in front of him next. He turned his head to the ground and thought for a moment. His finger tapped against his elbow.

"…I must say, I'm not all that pleased or impressed." Gabriel answered. "This is probably the sloppiest job you've ever done for us. You barely managed what I would consider as 'success' in the first place."

Potemkin struggled not to shake. He wasn't sure how to respond to this, but he interpreted it as prying. He had to say something to try and cover it up.

"…I could have ran." He finally stated.

"Indeed you could have." Gabriel nearly snapped back. "But instead, you do the job so ineffectively that you make me question your usefulness in this scenario in the first place. It would have been far simpler for you to just wait for us to come in."

"I did what I had to do given the amount of time." Potemkin immediately lied. "There were other people in the area, and each one was a real threat…"

"I'm afraid I care little for your excuses." Gabriel cut off, turning his head back up to the slave soldier. Potemkin leveled his gaze at him, and suppressed inner irritation. However…something about Gabriel's stare unnerved him. It seemed to be deep…probing…as if it was sifting around what he said and deeper into his story. Potemkin, on seeing this, felt a bit uneasy within. He thought he was straight-faced enough with his lies. Was he?

"The fact of the matter is that you were captured almost immediately after contacting us, and you escaped from the heart of the facility without anything to show for it other than that the target is dead. We wanted him alive at best. And we wanted to recover something of what he was using in the first place. That was an implied priority…one that you ignored. I know full well in the past you've displayed considerable chagrin toward Zepp authority and government. And since you can't directly disobey us, it makes sense that you might try and do something a bit more…underhanded, so to speak? And your handling of this mission makes me seriously believe such was the case."

Potemkin felt his heart begin to slow. He struggled to maintain a poker face…but he couldn't keep his eyes from widening.

"…I know better than that, General. You still had my family."

"We still _have_ your family, soldier." Gabriel immediately countered. Potemkin's fear vanished for a moment as his blood boiled. He should have known it all along. They hadn't let them go yet. Of course…why would they? Why would they make any deals with a slave soldier at all? Why would they care to respect honor or duty or anything with him?

"And this wouldn't be the first time that a slave soldier has had a surge of rebellious, if foolish, bravery. You especially have had a rather great streak of it. You might not have been able to hurt us…but you could take away something we wanted, yes? You knew from the start that you were so valuable that you'd only be put on jobs which were of great aid to us, yes?"

Potemkin couldn't help it. He swallowed.

"Sir…I only cared about getting this job done… I wanted to get back to my family…"

"I'm sorry, soldier…but I'm afraid I don't believe your priorities are fully in order…or that you have Zepp's best interests in mind." Gabriel coldly concluded.

Potemkin felt his hands begin to sweat. Anxiety began to fill through him…and it drove his mind to think. This was it. He had to try. He always wondered whether or not the explosives could kill him, or if the control was only in the hands of the immediate officers in the vicinity. He had to attack. It would take a miracle, but he might be able to bring them all down before they shot. If he didn't, he'd die for certain now. After that…he'd just have to play it by ear. There was nowhere he could run or hide, but he had to try…

"And because of this…" Gabriel continued. "I am immediately assigning you a new mission to demonstrate to me where your loyalties lie."

Right before Potemkin was about to spring forward and wring the neck of the officer…he stopped himself. His face actually turned to a bit of puzzlement. The General, however, didn't change. He kept his arms behind him and looked ahead to the slave soldier. His face was as stony and calm as always. That was it.

Potemkin couldn't believe it. Perhaps he truly was as valuable as he thought. They weren't going to kill him. They were going to send him out on another mission. Normally he hated these things. The thought of doing another mission right after one would have driven him to rage. And yet, right now…it almost sounded as if he had been pardoned off death row. He had to resist looking too eager or excited, showing that he had excessive gratefulness. Yet as he held on longer…he realized there had to be a catch. These things weren't that simple. It wasn't how Zepp worked. Something about this mission had to be designed to punish him. He held on, bowing his head humbly, and waited to hear what.

Gabriel cleared his throat, and then raised his head a bit more.

"Your current mission is this. You will accompany us back to Zepp. At that time, you will be dropped at the foot of the capitol building. You will ascend to the highest floor and capture the High Administrator. With any luck, we'll be able to use him to get many of the high officers to surrender without a fight."

Potemkin's head stayed bowed for a moment…before that phrase fully sunk into his brain. When it did, his head snapped back up and he looked at Gabriel in total confusion.

"…Excuse me?" He forgot to add the designation.

Gabriel frowned at this. "Did I stutter, soldier? Or should I say, Potemkin? Your mission is to carry out one of the most important steps in Zepp's revolution."

The giant looked even more stunned.

"Did you say…revolution?"

"Yes." The officer calmly answered. "This airship…these officers…myself…for the moment we are all still fully in Zepp's employment. However, all of us have already entered into a pact with one another to be one of seven battleships that will launch an attack on Zepp's main capitol within a few hours." A pause. "…I'd very much appreciate it if you joined us, Potemkin."

The hulk didn't answer. His face was still full of confusion. He couldn't understand what he was hearing. It sounded like a joke…like he was misunderstanding something. But was General Gabriel saying what he thought he was saying? He gaped at him silently without change for a few moments.

Seeing this, Gabriel inhaled deeply and let out a long sigh. He bowed his head and stepped toward the giant. One of his gloved hands came up and rubbed the bridge of his nose. When he removed it, he looked back to the giant's face. His voice was still very strong and hard…but his face looked just the slightest bit softer.

"Are you confused? Are you unable to believe that you can see a military officer that hates Zepp as much as you do? I was born into the higher military elite of Zepp, Potemkin. But I was not apart from people just like you. When I was younger I had many friends who were in the lower slave class. As I grew up, my father tried to start separating me from them. He started to try and educate me in the system of predestiny. I was to be the 'haves'. They were to be the 'have-nots'. However, my father, and the other higher officers of Zepp made a critical error. They tried to keep the world below apart from you, but they couldn't from us. If they tried, we would have been ignorant and two-dimensional in command abilities. We had to learn.

"It wasn't long before I started to see that Zepp was a government designed only to sustain itself to the subrogation of everyone else, including its people. It was a parasite, forced to consume everything and produce nothing to survive. I stayed with my friends who were slaves for years. All the way up through military school I broke off to visit them. Each time I saw them growing sicker and weaker, until they were eventually worked to death. They hoped that would 'break my ties' to them. Instead, it pushed me over the edge.

"I worked very hard to get where I am. I studied tactics night and day. I made friends with all the right people. I went through all of the appropriate motions for decades. And do you know why? So that I could be exactly where I am right now. Right in the position where I can slip as many knives between as many shoulder blades as possible. In the position where I can bring this totalitarian dictatorship crashing down from the false Heaven it created off of blood and broken backs. I've spent half my life making the appropriate ties, agreements, and partnerships. I had to work as an extensive puppeteer in order to get everything in perfect place. And now, right now, is the time to finally set the revolution into motion."

Some of Potemkin's confusion vanished…but still he couldn't believe what he was hearing. The man was serious. He really was intending to carry out a toppling of Zepp's government. And he was going to do it now...right now. And he was telling him all about it.

Of course...that didn't necessarily mean much. All that Gabriel was talking about was a revolution. If he caused one, it could be to create his own dictatorship under him. He was saying quite a few flowery things, but ideals seemed to die out quickly when power had to be maintained. He was sure that he had managed to win over quite a few with this talk. Yet for all he knew, he was just doing this in order to try and persuade Potemkin to his cause. Play off of his irritation and frustrations with life, and use him as a tool. Isn't that what leaders did? Made tools out of everyone else? Zepp had...

And yet…Potemkin didn't quite believe that. The look in his eyes…the passion that was beginning to fill his voice and undertones… It seemed completely out of place in a Zepp officer. They were supposed to only support the system. This kind of passion and voice…he had only heard of it before among slaves who grew tired of being treated like dogs. They did rise to rebel…and invariably were killed. Yet the voice, the tone, and the passion through them was what mattered. And that's what Potemkin saw right now in the face and body of General Gabriel. He saw the fervor traveling through him as well as the coldness of his expressions of loathing and anger. Thoughts begin to arise in Potemkin's brain...possibilities...

_He's serious._

_He really wants to cause a revolution._

Gabriel paused for a moment to take in a deep breath, and then spoke on.

"…I know you let that technology get lost on purpose, Potemkin." He continued. "I've spent years learning how to read people. I could see it in your eyes. That's exactly why I want you. Not just for your strength and your abilities. Because you're a man who knows when something needs to be done, no matter what price has to be paid. I was right. According to Zepp, this was probably your greatest failure. But according to me…this confirms what I want to know for certain. That you're a man I want at my side when I remake Zepp into a better world."

The General removed one hand from his back, and proceeded to delve it into his uniform coat pocket. He didn't fish around at all. He immediately grabbed what he wanted and pulled it out. When he did, he twisted it around and held it in front of him so that Potemkin could see it.

On doing so…the giant couldn't help but let his mouth hang down.

_The key._

"You've proved yourself to me, Potemkin. But I have yet to prove myself to you. You probably can have little faith in me. You probably refuse to believe that a man like me could possibly care for these things. That I will just make myself a new High Administrator. And it's because of that reason that I must do this."

Immediately, Gabriel leaned forward and stuck his hand with the key out. A moment later, and Potemkin found himself trembling and sweating as he felt the slightest movement against him. His heart seemed to stop beating as he heard the key insert into the lock. A turn followed.

An eruption of steam went off around Potemkin's neck…and then, for the first time in years, he felt his skin exposed as the metal loosened.

The hulk couldn't move. Even when Gabriel leaned back and placed the key back in his pocket, and then crossed his arms behind him, he still couldn't move. It was only after he was able to feel it for a while, to sense it, to know that it wasn't a dream…that he was able to slowly move one of his huge hands up toward his neck. His long fingers slowly extended and moved around the metal collar. Yet now…he was able to lift it and fully put his fingers around it. His mouth still hung loosely. His eyes were aimed to the sky. His hand slowly tightened…and at long last, he forced himself to pull.

The collar easily slipped off of his neck. The skin felt the gentle breeze for the first time in an eternity.

Potemkin couldn't help it. He felt his eyes begin to tear. He was free.

His arm fell to the side and released. The collar fell to the ground with a heavy thud and lay there motionless. The giant raised his hand to his neck and felt around, relishing the sensation that was there. Gabriel let him do so for a short time. But then, he spoke up again.

This time…Potemkin found himself willingly looking down and listening.

"You're free to choose your own destiny now, Potemkin." Gabriel announced. "As for your wife and child…they've already been picked up by one of my subordinate officers. They'll be dropped off safely in Paris very shortly. You can do whatever you wish. I'm sure the IPF will have no trouble releasing you once you've freely told them everything. You can go back to your family and happily live out the rest of your days.

"However…know this. There are many other people still on Zepp. Many other slaves. We were able to get yours out easy enough. The rest will have to be fought for. And there will be even more if we are unsuccessful in this revolution. There was a time in which Zepp was supposed to be a paradise. It can still be, if people are willing to work for it. I am one of those people. I will not compel you or bribe you or order you, Potemkin, but I will ask you, from one man to another. Are you willing to fight for a cause you believe in? And if so…are you willing to believe in mine? Will you help me?"

This last sentence…the last phrase…lost all command overtone and steel. It was just as Gabriel had said. It was a humble request, from one man to another. And to end it…Gabriel raised his hand out to the giant. He was offering him to take it.

Potemkin's hand left his neck. He looked to Gabriel, to his hand, and then back to him. He didn't move yet. Part of him was telling him to turn and go. Why stay? He had his wife and child at last. He was in a position where he could no longer be used or tricked. He was free. He could tear this little man in half right now if he wanted. A side of him said to spit on this man's ideals. He'd be made a fool of again. He should leave that island and let it rot. What should he care?

It didn't take long for those thoughts to evaporate.

The fact was that he _did_ care. If he hadn't, he would have simply done as the High Administrator wanted and provided him with the Gear and the weapons. But no…he had taken his spot in that tunnel and been unable to move. And if it wasn't for Kliff Undersn, who had looked with pity on his plight, he might have made a terrible mistake. If it wasn't for the sacrifice of that crazed man, he would now be dead. You couldn't go around in life apart from other people and not caring. Perhaps if the government had cared about more except themselves, then none of this would have ever happened. And in spite of everything else…he couldn't leave the rest of the slaves there. He may have never realized it until now, or believed it mattered (he had to look out for his own family), but now he had a choice…

Potemkin stared longer at Gabriel's face. He saw that it had been hard and strong. However…there had been something that stood out from it from the first day he met him. At first, he thought it was something bad. Something that made him harder and more merciless. Only now did he realize what it was. There were lines of cruelty on Zepp's military elite. The lines that had formed themselves on the faces of every high officer, every soldier, and every taskmaster. The lines that showed that this person had ceased to think of the slaves as human beings and thought of them as animals. The lines that showed that this person saw the world as an enemy and a thing to be conquered, not anything to want or look after. The lines that showed the chalk outline of a murdered conscience and an empty soul.

Gabriel looked harder, fiercer, roughter, and more steadfast than the meanest general in the world…

But he didn't have those lines.

And when Potemkin saw this…he believed him at last.

The giant swallowed once and shut his mouth completely. His own eyes became fierce and dedicated. He extended his hand out and took Gabriel's.

For the first time, and one of the few times he would ever see it, the General smiled.

"Zepp's orbit is nearly here. We attack in two hours. We'll need to get you bandaged up and ready."

The General turned around, and began to march back to the air battleship.

"General?"

Gabriel halted, and turned back to Potemkin. The giant hesitated a moment, but then looked down and looked to his feet. The heavy collar still lay there. He stared at it for a long time, seeming to try and make a decision.

"…Will this collar lock and prime for detonation if it's collapsed again?"

The General hesitated on hearing this, but shook his head. "No. Those functions are controlled by the key, and it's been unlocked."

Potemkin hesitated a bit longer, still looking at it. He was still thinking about his decision. A bit to Gabriel's surprise, when he did react, he leaned down, snatched the collar off of the ground, put it around his neck again, and collapsed it. Now wearing the slave symbol again, he began to walk after Gabriel toward the airship.

The General regarded him with confusion. As soon as he was alongside, he began to walk with him.

"Why did you do that?" He asked.

"Two reasons." Potemkin answered. "The first is that I want the world to know that I am a soldier still, but that now I am my own master. I choose when my restraints are off. And I want to remember what it was like to wear this…so that if things ever turn this way again I will know what it meant to wear this yoke."

Gabriel showed little reaction other than he contemplated this reasoning. After a pause, he spoke again. "And the other reason?"

Potemkin cracked his own smile for the first time he could remember.

"…So that I'll be able to see the High Administrator soil himself when he tries to blow me up."

* * *

"It wasn't a complete loss." Ky responded. "We can remove Zato-1 from the list." 

"I'll agree to that once I've seen his body." The Commander grumbled in response. "Again, I don't envy you having to explain yourself. I thought you were someone we could depend on."

"I believe I acted fully in accordance with the best possible outcome." Ky answered. "In my opinion, that makes me very dependable."

The officer gave him a glare. "You can tell that to the Commissioner's face and see if he agrees. Why don't you throw that insubordinate tone in with it, while you're at it? I'm sure that will go over well."

Ky stared back at the man for a moment, but then swallowed a bit and bowed his head in respect. "I apologize, sir."

The Commander merely snorted. "Is there anything else you can tell us about this incident that might end up being useful?"

Ky hesitated a moment, but then raised his head. He paused again here, as if he was uncertain whether or not he should say this. Yet in the end, he decided to speak.

"There is one thing, sir. I found out something invaluable about Sol Badguy."

The Commander groaned. "Him again. That's all you care about. Damnit, Captain…if you botched up this mission so that you could pursue your stupid little vendetta for him…" He growled a moment, and then looked to Ky and glared at him right in the eyes. The look was so angry and fierce that it made the knight lean back.

"Listen up and listen good, Captain." He barked, nearly like an angry adult disciplining a child. "I'm getting sick of you going off on your own and I'm not alone. Your insubordination is really starting to irritate the higher ups. If you want to stay on duty, you better start shaping up. Enough of your stupid knight's code, enough of your stupid rivalry, and enough of you taking the law into your own hands. You do what you're told and _only_ what you're told. And you stop questioning your orders at critical moments. Understand?"

Ky stared back silently. His mouth hung very slightly. It seemed as if he was surprised by that sudden tirade. However…one only had to look a bit more to realize it wasn't the tirade alone that had done it. The words themselves had impacted him. They were sinking into him, and he was throwing them around in his brain. The Commander didn't care about that. Perhaps it meant he was finally letting this sink in. After a moment, the knight's mouth closed. He stared back expressionlessly and emotionlessly at the officer. The Commander realized he was done thinking, and finally straightened up.

"Now…what's so damn important about Sol Badguy that you consider it of any value in the face of how much you let slip up?"

Ky didn't react. For a moment, he simply stared back. He showed no emotion. After a moment, however…his face turned just the slightest bit grim as his eyes turned down. A faraway look went into them.

"…I have reason to believe he'll be headed to Norway instead of France." He spoke quietly.

The Commander grit his teeth and practically hissed. "Who gives a rat's ass…" He grumbled as he turned and began to march over to some of the nearby investigating soldiers.

Ky was left sitting alone in his position. For about a minute, he continued to stare at the ground and stayed silent and emotionless. After that, however…he calmly resumed doctoring his wounds.

* * *

About an hour later, and the Commander was standing back where he had been during Ky's debriefing. He looked at the piece of concrete he had perched on, and still saw bloody pieces of shrapnel and tattered, coppery clothing lying on it. The officer couldn't help but sneer slightly. How sloppy could you be? Letting yourself get messed up like that… The Captain could have saved himself a lot of trouble just by packing a gun. It was a pity he insisted on those stupid, archaic weapons… 

A shifting of feet was heard rushing up to him. Once it reached about six feet away, it halted. The Commander, still having a rather dark look, turned away from the bloody position and to his side. One of the police officers in charge of investigation was standing there and saluting. The Commander recognized him as the one who was supposed to inspect the power plant area.

"Report." He stated.

"We've combed the entire plant, sir." The officer answered. "We've found signs of a struggle and bloodstains, but the body of Zato-1 is nowhere to be found."

The Commander grit his teeth and turned away. "Couldn't even do _that_ right, could you, Captain…?" He grumbled aloud. "Dead my ass…" After this, he turned back to the officer. "Can you see about tracking him?"

The man ruefully shook his head. "No sir. The blood stains are close to a day old at this point, and the field spectronomer reveals it's only Captain Kiske's blood. The only proof Zato-1 was ever there at all is a pair of shattered lenses."

The Commander continued to look annoyed, and sighed as he turned back around. "…The coast guard better get out here soon. This area's too big for us to cover. If we're not careful, the one target we should have gotten is going to slip through our fingers…"

* * *

Very slowly, as if whatever power was beneath it was acting sluggish, a hand raised up in the air with fingers outstretched, and then came down on the rail of the boat. It sent out a rather loud noise as it did so. 

It didn't go unnoticed. The two crewmembers of the yacht stirred on hearing it. Both were perched in lawn chairs on deck with fishing rods over the side, essentially idling until their boss came back. A case of beer was open between them, although it hadn't been touched in quite a while. Both of them had been napping most of the morning. However, on hearing the sound of the palm slam down, both snapped up and looked over to the side of the boat.

One of them immediately brightened and began to rise.

"Boss!"

Their boss didn't answer. Instead…his body looked frozen and immobile for a moment before the arm seemed to spasm, although it was simply tightening fast. Almost in an uncontrolled movement, the form of the man shot up and over the edge of the boat. It did so quick it nearly spilled forward and over. The legs moved stiffly and rigidly to try and stop it from falling. As it was, it only managed to keep it from falling part of the way. The body still hunched over and propped itself up with one hand.

The other crewmember rose, and with the first they began to look uneasy at this. "Boss?" The first called out again. "You alright?"

The form didn't answer. It stayed frozen in that position. Occasionally…a random muscle moved briefly, almost as if it was testing it to see if it would move the body in a way that improved it. It did not, however. Soon, the two men noticed this, and both got up and began to rush over to the man's side.

His blond hair was messy and dirty, and splayed over most of his face. All that one could clearly make out over his face was a strip of black cloth that had been torn from his clothes and tied over his eyes. The body itself was charred in several places from severe burns. The clothing was peeling off along with the skin. It hardly seemed possible that such a man could be alive. As the two ran up to the sides of the man, they realized this…and grew even more horrified at what they were seeing. Little did either of them know that the skin already looked a lot better than it had yesterday.

Once at the man's side, they didn't wait to be asked. They immediately grabbed his arms and pulled them up. Both failed to notice the fingers of the man instinctively formed claws and tried to pierce the skin of their wrists. It wasn't until the man was fully up that they relaxed. Both crewmembers supported him after this.

The man's body lay limp in their grasp. The head hung down, as if the neck had no muscle in it.

"Boss…what happened to you?" The first crewmember asked.

"Did that bitch do this to you?" The second chimed in.

The man didn't answer. Instead…his legs stiffly tried to shift underneath him. They were rigid, not flexible as they should have been for normal posture. The head stayed down a moment. But then…at long last, some sort of force went into it. Slowly, the neck went rigid, and the head was drawn up with it. It took a few moments, but soon it leaned back, and let the hair spill away from it. The face beneath was revealed for both men to see.

It was definitely the face of Zato-1. A bit burned along the neck and cheeks, but him none the less. His shades had been replaced with the strip of black cloth. However, something was different. The face looked like that of someone who had a stroke. No facial twitches. No muscle tightening. No expression. It was blaise and lifeless.

Both men looked in at this.

"Boss?"

Very slowly, the man's lips cracked. A noise seemed to come from his throat. It was deep and guttural. It twisted and warped as it went forth. After a moment, the tongue within the mouth seemed to twist. It was weird. It was like someone knew what he wanted to say…but didn't know how to make his body work to say it. As a result, it took a few moments before, in an almost inhuman tone, they heard a single world come out.

"Drrrrr…iiiii…vvvvvve…"

"Tony, he said drive." The second crewmember spoke up.

The first immediately nodded. "You got it boss. We'll be back home in a snap." He turned over to the other and motioned. "Get him into a chair."

The second nodded back. A moment later, and the first took off. As for the second, he put his arm around the man's waist, turned, and began to lead him back to the lawn chairs. The legs of the man worked, but they were still too stiff and rigid to do much. He didn't appear capable of keeping balance. After a bit of work, the second crewmember managed to get the man to a chair. He immediately got him around and lowered him into one. He adjusted him so that he was upright and comfortable, and then backed off slightly.

"You need anything boss, just ask."

The man didn't answer. His head rolled to the side uselessly. He looked almost catatonic. The crewmember looked worried at this, but stepped back and sat in his own lawn chair soon after.

A couple of minutes later, and the engines on the ship roared to life. A minute after that, and the yacht began to pull back and make its way away from the island. The limp man stayed motionless the whole time. The second crewmember looked to him anxiously throughout. He could barely tell if the man was alive or dead. He kept up like this as the ship went into gear and fired up to full speed. Soon, it was pulling away on its newest course, taking it far from England and back to Europe.

It was only then that the limp man moved. Abruptly, his head snapped around and looked to the side facing the crewmember. This man, anxiously watching him in his chair, perked up at this. Only then did he realize that the man wasn't looking to him. He seemed to be looking down to the case of beer between them. That puzzled the crewmember. Wasn't Zato-1 supposed to be blind? He didn't know that they had put that case there. So how did he see it?

He didn't know, but he must have seen it somehow. Suddenly, moving like a snake snap, the arm of the man came to life, shot out with fingers outstretched, and lunged for a bottle. It missed by a wide margin, but the man didn't stop. He let out what sounded like some sort of whine/hiss…and his hand swept back in an arch until it grasped the long neck of a beer. Immediately, he yanked it back up and snapped it back to his body, appearing to catch it against his chest. He next raised the neck up to his mouth. Once there, to the crewmember's surprise, he extended his head over it, opened his mouth, grasped the end, and then bit the bottlecap off. He snapped his head to the side, again seeming erratic, and spat it out, and then turned back to the bottle. To the crewmember's unease, he tipped it in the air and back, and let the contents rush out and over his face. It splashed over his hair and his eyes before it finally managed to get over its mouth. When it did, the man didn't drink it normally. He just let it flow into his open jaw, swallowing some and letting the rest fizzle out over him.

Once the bottle was empty, the arm of the man swung down and smashed the bottle into a hundred pieces. The crewmember leapt back a bit at that in his chair. The limp man didn't seem to notice. The faint outline of a smile went out as he turned his head back to the cooler. He reached out and grabbed another. This time…he hit it on his first try, and brought it back much more carefully. Soon he bit off the head of this one, cutting his gums but not seeming to care, and then began to drink this one sloppily as well. However, this time he aimed it over his mouth on the first try as well. Much more went down his throat too.

The crewmember swallowed a bit.

"Boss…are you feeling ok?"

The bottle was swung down and smashed again, right next to the previous one. The man let out a satisfied "ah", and then leaned back a bit in his chair. As his smile widened a bit more, he looked up to the sky.

The crewmember couldn't tell for sure…but he almost thought he saw red lights underneath that cloth covering his eyes.

The man spoke, still rough and sluggish…but far clearer this time.

"Caaaall…meeee…Eddieeee…"

* * *

A clicking of boots became audible just as the Commander thought over this. In response, he looked up, and saw that another investigative officer was running up to him. Immediately, he gave him his full attention. A second later, the officer reached him and came to a halt. A salute was given. The Commander nodded and addressed him as well. 

"Report."

"We managed to excavate to the area of what we believe was Testament's base of operations." The officer responded. "But I regret to say it will take some time for us to get any further through it. The area has been filled with interlocking tree branches and roots. It resembles some of the security systems the Gears used back when they occupied Eastern Europe. Clearing it out without damaging any technologies will require chainsaws and time."

The Commander frowned yet again. This wasn't his day.

"There's no way through it at all?"

The officer regretfully shook his head. "No sir. The entire area is almost like a solid wall. There is one thin opening into the interior, but no human could squeeze through it."

* * *

The gutter opening had to be no larger than eighteen inches across. However…that didn't seem to stop whoever was inside it. The metal lid abruptly went up and fell to the side. Beyond it was a long, spindly, spider-like hand. It was a bit roughed up and dirty, but other than that it was fine. The muscles beneath it were tired but still worked strongly and precisely. They had little trouble coming down, grasping the edge of the drain, and then tightening. Soon, the arm began to pull the rest of the body out. 

It was almost like toothpaste being squeezed through a tube. The head just barely cleared the drain, and the body beyond it seemed to expand and flatten out as it came. The other arm was flush against it, unable to be used and only being compressed against the already thin body to get it out. As he slowly drew himself out over the edge, he finally managed to get the other arm free, and used that to pull the rest of his body out. The legs themselves had been too compressed to use in the gutter. They had been fairly useless through the trek, and remained locked together as the man pulled them out.

Once over the edge, however, it was revealed that the feet were pinched around half of a giant scalpel. As soon as his whole body came forth, he reached over and took it in one hand. He next cracked his legs and joints a few times and then put them underneath him. Letting out a long exhale of relief, he stood up and examined his location.

It was farther away from the city and the headquarters. Only the distant sound of IPF officers was audible. He was deeper in a forest, and on a hilltop overlooking both the city he had been in and the sea far in the distance. There were some distant voices, but for the most part he was totally in the clear. They couldn't get to him now, especially with how well he could hide.

Because of all of this…the battered, dirty, and injured man cracked a wide, toothless smile. It was a bit unsettling at first to look at…but if one looked a bit longer, they'd realize that it was friendly and innocent. If one stared at it long enough, got to know what was behind it well enough…they might even grow to like it.

The doctor's clothing was in shreds. Most of it had been torn prying himself free from the roots. His muscles were nearly exhausted from cutting his way out. The scalpel had been worn permanently dull. It would have to be sharpened or replaced. His face was a mess. He had reset as many of the bones as possible, but he had to use old newspapers for bandages to cover up most of it. Now he was some twisted, bloody, paper mache man on most of his head. Yet despite all of this…the doctor hadn't been this happy in a long time.

It felt as if he had spent years under a cloud of misery, and yet now it had finally cleared. For so long, he could never seen anything except that bloody operating table. Now he could see everything. The forest…the sky…the sun…all of the world. All of it looked beautiful and hopeful again. His soul had been unchained. He was free. Even now, when he thought his final act would be to atone for his sins by saving those strangers while giving up his life…it turned out he was wrong. Nancy was still looking out for him. He managed to escape, and was free again to live a new life.

The doctor hardly knew what to do first. He felt lighter than air…even giddy. He didn't know how he could begin. He didn't know _if_ he could begin. The name of Dr. Baldhead was synonymous with twisted evil and abominations. Although he now wanted to try, how would he be able to gain people's trust again? Where could he start from this? Would he try to open his own practice again? Fulfill the hospital or school idea? No…that was no good. Even if he had enough clout for the world to allow him these luxuries, he didn't want to encourage his pride again, or arouse the ire of others. He had to do something else…something different… But could he? Was it possible? Could he really make a new name for himself after everything he had done?

As the doctor thought of these things…something suddenly smacked him in the face. The wind had blown some sort of object against him. His eyebrows furrowed, and he quickly raised one of his spindly hands to grab it and pull it off. He extended it in front of him afterward, much as he used to view medical records or x-rays, and examined it. What he saw forced him to pause.

It was a normal paper bag.

If this was anywhere else, one might not have thought that was that spectacular. It was just trash. However…this wasn't anywhere else, and soon it began to amaze the doctor. This was England. It was a place that had gone unused for years. No stores or grocers had operated here for nearly a century. And yet, somehow…through rain and war and fire and age…here was something. This paper bag still remained. It was a good one, too. Thick material. Durable. No wear or watermarks. The only folding was in its original packaging. In fact…it was perfect. It was the most perfect little paper bag the doctor had ever seen.

The doctor looked at it a bit longer…and began to smile.

It was like providence had hit him. As if his burning bush from God had taken the form of an intact paper bag. To most others in the world this meant nothing, but he knew it meant that even after so much wear and tear and erosion and destruction, something simple could still emerge clean and untouched from it all. This bag seemed like such a little piece of useless garbage, but it wasn't. It was every bit as good as it had been when it was first made. It was every bit as useful. It would hold just as much groceries or goods as any other bag in the world. Maybe even more so.

The same thing was for him. It didn't matter how he had been ravaged both physically and mentally. That was because he still had his skill. His talent. His perfect hands. And he could use them just as good now as he ever could. There was a part of him that was still unspoiled after everything that happened, and he could put it to the betterment of the world.

He knew now it was possible, and he'd do it. As he used to wander in the shadows to bring death, now he'd slip in and out of them to bring life. He'd go from being an angel of death to a miraculous deliverer. He'd prey on disease and ailments now, helping people who were too poor or far gone to get help from anyone else. His purpose was clear to him now, and seemed more likely and certain than anything else in his life ever had. This innocent paper bag was the sign. The promise.

Still smiling, the doctor flipped the bag open. He shifted one hand underneath it, right to where his one unswollen eye would poke through, and proceeded to punch an eyeglass-sized piece through it. With that, he pulled it up and calmly slipped the bag over his own head. Other might call it ridiculous…but this was his new identity. Dr. Baldhead had been put to death in that room. He would be a new doctor…no, a healer… The greatest of them all. And he would take on the name of the most infamous doctor of all, one who also made a journey from damnation to salvation.

* * *

"Fine then. What about the bodies?" 

"We haven't recovered the one of Dr. Baldhead yet." The man answered.

The Commander hesitated a moment, but then gave a nod. "Very well. Dismissed."

Both officers saluted, and then turned and began to march away. The Commander himself gave a sigh and turned around back to Ky's position. As he did, he looked above it a bit, on to where the ruined stadium was. There were a few drop ships there. One was picking up the body of Kliff Undersn. As soon as news hit the media that he was dead, there was likely going to be an international day of mourning or something. Ky would probably screw up and blab it out as soon as he was back. That would get the media working on finding out what they were doing there in the first place, and that would be a problem if word of a Gear being present came out enough to be blown out of proportion. That Captain was definitely growing to be far more trouble than he was worth…

Luckily…the Commander knew already that enough data had been collected from this mission for the boys in engineering to have something real to work with. They wouldn't have to worry about a human element in the IPF much longer…

"Commander!"

The officer once again looked up and turned around. A third officer was coming up to him, no doubt with a report. He soon reached him and proceeded with the same salute as the second. Something small was being held in one of his hands. However, the Commander turned fully to this one. Here was something he actually wanted to hear.

"Have you recovered Testament's body yet?"

The man looked regretful in response. "Sorry, sir. The directions Captain Kiske gave us were vague at best. We have an area of four city blocks to cover. Two of them are overgrown ruins. It could take hours to find anything there."

The higher officer's eyes narrowed.

"I _want_ his body, Lieutenant. Don't come back to me without it."

In response to this, the Lieutenant began to tighten up his grip and raise something.

"That's why I came back, sir. We haven't recovered the body yet, but we believe we have it located to one of the ruins. There were some shreds of a black uniform there, stained with blood. Part of it was burned, so it likely had contact with Sol Badguy's blade. Yet some sort of pocket was retained inside it. It contained this."

The officer extended his hand. The Commander looked down in response. He was presenting to him a small, spiral notepad. It looked like it would typically be used for sketching small notations rather than anything major. Its cover was still intact, but it had been half burned away, and singed around the edges.

"One paper had been removed from it." The Lieutenant continued. "However, whoever did so, who we can probably assume was Testament himself, he forgot to remove the second page behind it. I took the liberty of making a rubbing with a pencil. It's incomplete, but it does offer a clue."

The Lieutenant proceeded to flip open the cover. The current first page was revealed, having been marked with pencil, and was brought up in front of the Commander's face to see. The higher officer himself narrowed his gaze and leaned in a bit closer to read it.

Only one word and a fragment was there.

_Find D_

* * *

_Hours Earlier_

* * *

At the moment in which Justice breathed her last and went to rest forever…somewhere thousands of miles away…a pair of blood red eyes raised and looked out through rusted prison bars. They quivered once, let a single tear fall, and then closed again to try and sleep.

* * *

**The End**

* * *

FINAL NOTES: Well everyone, thank you all for sticking through this story to the end. Based on the stats, I estimate that only about one out of every ten people who read the first chapter stayed on to read the whole story. So if you're one of them, thanks!

I thank you all very much for the nice feedback as well. There were quite a few points I thought I'd make people upset due to a few liberties with the plotline. I tried my best to make it flush with the endings, but seeing as history differs a bit depending on which game or ending you obtain, it was kind of hard. In this last chapter, I tried taking many of the endings and fitting them in the canon, although particular fighters didn't win the tournament (i.e. Potemkin's freeing by Gabriel, Dr. Baldhead's transformation into Faust, and the first appearance of Johnny).

I also am glad you all enjoyed it despite my own feelings. To be honest, this fanfiction didn't come out the way I wanted. With so many characters to juggle and plotlines around, I don't think I used nearly as much time as I wanted to develop Chipp's character or story (My least favorite fight is Chipp vs. Sol). And May, who is actually one of my favorites, got practically sidelined. I tried making Justice practically "god-like" in fighting ability, but all that ended really coming out was physical material.

Several people have asked me if I would do a Guilty Gear X novelization next. For now...I'm going to definitely have to say no. Doing the multitude of fight sequences in this story was extremely difficult, and Guilty Gear X features a lot more characters to try and keep track of (especially if I use a plus version and include characters like Bridget [who honestly scares me and Slayer). It's also much harder to set up. Very few of the characters in Guilty Gear X are actually out to kill Dizzy, and as a result it's hard to put together conflicts which would lead to a fight. I'd probably be able to do Sol vs. Ky, Millia vs. Eddie, and Millia vs. Venom...possibly Baiken going around picking fights with whoever...but other than that I'd just have to have Testament and Dizzy beat up on everyone. Also, I'm not fully in tune with everything in the "Guilty Gear" universe. I've already changed at least one plot item. I'm not sure how worse it would get with Guilty Gear X, especially since that game has far more multiple endings. I know I don't want to do a Guilty Gear XX novelization...

For now, for those of you who may have followed me here, I'm going to continue with the fifth part of "The Servant". See you around.


End file.
